LXG2 The Sequel
by Sawyer Fan
Summary: Tom Sawyer is called back to America, unaware he is in extreme danger in doing so. Can a resurrected sinner and a very alive Allan Quatermain help the rest of the League save the young agent before it's too late?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimers: Don't own the characters except the ones out of my imagination...poor things. Whoever owns the rights on the rest...owns it. Not making any money, only having some fun, appeasing myself and hopefully others with the continuing adventures. I've never read the comics, only read '_about_' what they contained from LXG related articles. This is my little twist on everything from the movie and the comics.

Rated PG-13 for action and some swearing.

LXG 2: THE SEQUEL

BY SAWYER FAN

The young man strolled away slowly from the freshly dug grave, pondering the past several days that had led him so tragically to this point. Despite his friend's reassurances, Tom Sawyer couldn't help but feel the weight of the old adventurer's death on his shoulders. After all, it was for him that the great hunter and renown adventurer, Allan Quatermain, gave the ultimate sacrifice-his life. Glancing back at the grave, the handsome American sighed heavily. He was truly grateful for the selfless act, but yet... What he wouldn't give to have the old codger glaring at him right now, blustering about some foolish reaction to a situation.

Sawyer smiled sadly. It was odd, but he could still feel the bond he shared with the older man as if they were only separated by location...not by eternity. He would never admit it to his other comrades, but Tom saw Quatermain more as a father figure than as a friend. Stuffing his hands into his pant's pockets, the Secret Service agent continued down the path with his friends, ignoring the dark clouds and random streaks of lightening that were now filling the skies behind him in this small area of Africa.

Watching the youth leave, an elderly, tribal witch doctor grinned under the white paint that was smeared all over his countenance. He turned his dark face heavenward, and began to chant over and over, feeling the earth begin to quake under his feet.

The cross bearing Allan Quatermain's name swayed to and fro as the mound of dirt under it rumbled in response to the violent disturbance. A single bolt of lightening struck as a hand clawed it's way through the earth, reaching out to touch the modified Winchester rifle placed upon the grave by Sawyer. Ice cold fingers gripped around the stock of the weapon, the metal hot from the lightening.

Only the witch doctor heard the yell booming from the depths of the grave.

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Rodney Skinner was many things, but what he desperately wished to be right now was a man of sage wisdom. He watched his American friend sit quietly on the deck of the great submersible craft, the Nautilus, and struggled to find the words to say how sorry he was about everything. If he hadn't been so careless, Sawyer wouldn't have been captured, forcing a life or death situation to occur. Pulling on a trench coat and a pair of dark glasses, the totally invisible man approached Sawyer cautiously.

"Hey, Skinner," Tom greeted with a slight grin. Only Rodney could make an entrance like this; only the coat and shades being visible. If the sneaky thief didn't wear face paint or clothes, you'd never know he was there at all. "How are your burns doin'?" Sawyer asked in his soft, Southern drawl.

"Hardly know they're there, mate," Skinner replied in his thick, Cockney accent. Clearing his throat nervously, he gestured towards his young friend. "What about you? Sure been sitting around this tub just staring out at nothing."

"Just thinkin'," Sawyer shrugged sadly.

"You?" Skinner jabbed, hoping to see a tiny smile.

It worked. Tom let out a quiet chuckle. "I am an American Secret Service Agent, y'know."

"Yeah, but I thought those blokes behind the desks did the thinking while you did the action," the invisible man continued.

Guessing that Rodney was only trying to cheer him up, Sawyer decided to play along. "Don't you reckon I have to do some thinkin' on my own?"

Skinner threw his coat arms wide. "I guess anything's possible. We're sitting on a vessel that swims underwater...and don't forget that incredible piece of metal that you wrecked in Venice." Scratching at his non-visible head, the rogue laughed. "What'd ol' Nemo call that thing?"

"An automobile," the American agent supplied. "Sure was a damn fine machine. Hope Cap'n Nemo builds another one."

"If the ol' fish lover does, you best learn how to drive better."

Sawyer wrinkled his nose at the comment. "I knew how to drive it. You weren't even there." He glanced over at his invisible friend, thinking back to the mad race through the city of Venice, Italy. "Were you?"

"Might've been," Rodney replied. "Oh, by the way, I was winking when I said that."

Grinning big, Tom's mind wandered back to another wink that was made only recently, causing the young man to sober instantly. It was the first time he actually saw the great Allan Quatermain face to face, in the home of the forever youthful, Dorian Gray.

Having followed Quatermain and the other recruits of the newly formed "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen", Sawyer had stumbled upon an unexpected ambush. He remembered knocking out one the henchmen of the evil madman behind the trap, and taking his place on the upper story of Gray's expansive library.

The League was surrounded and outnumbered by deadly marksmen, their rifles aimed at the group, awaiting the orders of a man known only as the Fantom. When Quatermain had finally glanced up in his direction, Tom winked at the older man, letting him know he had at least one ally in the coming fight.

Skinner noted the forlorn expression that had crossed over Sawyer's face. "You sure you can't get those ol' buggers back home to let you come on our little sea excursion?" Before the remaining members of the League had embarked on their journey to see some of the world, the young agent had contacted a member of the Secret Service, only to be told he was expected in Washington, D.C. by the week's end.

Sawyer shook his blonde head. "Since the Fantom's a done deal, they want me State side." He clutched the railing tightly. "Maybe it's for the best..."

Looking out towards the calm, blue waves of the Atlantic Ocean, Rodney placed his hand briefly on his young friend's shoulder. "Listen, just wanted to say how sorry I am about how things turned out back at M's fortress. Some calvary I was."

The American picked up on the tinge of guilt in the former thief's voice. "You aren't blamin' yourself for anythin' are you?" he accused. "I'd probably be a pile of ashes if you hadn't stopped that metal covered maniac." A cold shiver raced down Sawyer's back as he recalled the fully armored, flame wielding henchman who had him cornered in a room full of burning documents and books. "You saved my life."

Skinner snorted softly. "Only to put you back into danger..."

"I'm the one who let my guard down," Tom insisted.

"Only because I got myself burnt, and you were trying to help me," Rodney shot back.

"Gentlemen..., please!" Both men turned to face the austere features of the Nautilus' creator, Captain Nemo. "Why are you both so intent on blaming yourselves for something that couldn't be helped?"

Sawyer lowered his head, unable to look the wise native of India in the face. "No disrespect, Cap'n Nemo, but you don't understand..."

"No, I don't understand how you could carry such guilt for something you didn't do," Nemo answered in his rich, deep voice.

"Didn't do?" Sawyer's hazel eyes blazed. "Allan died because I let some damn weasel sneak up behind me! How can it not be my fault?"

Gently stroking his thick, black beard, Nemo found himself saddened by the sudden flash of grief in his young friend's face. True, they would all miss the crusty, old adventurer in their own ways, but Sawyer's mourning went deeper. Even though the secret agent did his best to mask it, the melancholy emanated through every inch of his being.

"So, helping Mr. Skinner was wrong?" Nemo asked calmly.

"No! Of course not! He was hurt bad, and needed help!"

"Then where is the fault in that?"

Skinner chuckled under his breath and nudged Captain Nemo with his arm. "Heh, good one there, Cap'n," he whispered.

"I forgot all about the Fantom's invisible bastard still sneakin' around," Tom replied bitterly. "He sure didn't forget about me though."

"Yes, the invisible attacker..., I'm sure you would have easily seen him if you had been searching for him," Nemo scoffed gently. He paused, watching the younger man's face intently. "I'm sure if Mr. Quatermain was here, he would be placing the blame solely at his own feet."

Shaking his head vehemently, Sawyer frowned. "No...all Allan did was give his life to protect mine." Instinctively his hand went to his throat, remembering the feel of the knife blade pressing against his jugular as his invisible captor forced him onward to where Quatermain and the Fantom, also known as M, were fighting.

"You and Quatermain were obviously separated," Nemo pointed out. "How did that happen?"

"We were goin' after the Fantom...M...when I got slammed into a wall by some unseen force," Tom answered, suddenly aware his friends didn't know much about his ordeal after they had parted ways in the castle. "Knocked my gun from my hands, and I waved Allan on, thinkin' Skinner had fallen into me..."

"Quatermain paused," Nemo nodded sagely, "and thought you were safe, so he continued to pursue M, leaving you alone with an invisible assassin. I'm sure that thought occurred to him when he saw you in the villain's clutches."

"He didn't know it was Skinner..."

"Neither did you," Rodney added. "Sounds like that poor imitation of me was playing dirty."

"Sure was," the secret agent had to agree.

"Must've gotten away from him though," the invisible man recalled, "because when I came across you, some bloke wearing more armor than a knight was chasing after you with some kind of flame throwing weapon."

"I was gettin' ready to finish that invisible low-life when that other maniac showed up," Sawyer explained, his fists doubling in frustration. "If I had gotten a chance to beat..."

"But fate had other plans," Nemo inserted quietly. "Everything worked to the chosen outcome. If Hyde and myself had killed the guards instead of stunning them, would M and his other henchmen had discovered our presence in the castle? If Quatermain had stayed with you instead of going after M, would he still be alive? Or if you had conquered your invisible foe, would that have changed anything?" The older man grasped Tom by the upper arms. "We do not know, because it was not meant to be. I do know that an evil force was defeated...and if the outcome had been different...maybe it would have been the world who was defeated instead."

Looking into the captain's intense gaze, Sawyer shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I know you're right..., but..," he faltered.

"We all knew the risks we faced on this mission," Nemo continued, "and none knew that more than Mr. Quatermain. He gave you a precious gift, young man...now honor him by living, not by guilt and sadness. Be the optimistic, spirited, and courageous man he saw in you."

"That...that was something, Cap'n," Skinner sniffled. "Hits you right in the heart."

Nemo regarded the former thief for a second. "Only if I had made my point," he said, looking back at Sawyer.

The young agent's head dipped once in agreement. "You did," he acknowledged. "Thanks, both of ya."

"That's what we're here for, laddie!" Rodney cried out in bravado, smacking the blonde spy on the arm. "Now...how 'bout we go poking around Nemo's kitchen for something to eat?"

Rolling his eyes, Nemo made a grand gesture towards his galley. "By all means, Mr. Skinner, help yourself...to my food."

"See?" the invisible thief said with a jerk of his thumb. "Smart man. Knows the right thing to say."

As the two men left the conning tower, Sawyer threw the Indian captain a grateful smile before disappearing into the sub's hold. He would do whatever it took to make Allan Quatermain's belief in him justified.

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The seasoned gentleman sat brooding in the large, plush chair he had been regularly occupying since the hasty rebuilding of the Britannia Club in Nairobi, Africa. It had been two months since his dramatic return from the dead, and Allan Quatermain spent every day the same way; sending everyone away with a churlish scowl so he could be left alone. He glanced over at the modified Winchester rifle nestled protectively beside him and sighed heavily. Damn it all...why did the boy have to leave '_this_' gun?

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" a deep voice asked from behind the great hunter and adventurer.

Quatermain whirled around in his seat and fixed the intruder with a cold look. "What are you going on about?" he snapped irritably.

The witch doctor grinned knowingly, and reached out for the rifle, only to have it snatched from his fingertips by Quatermain. "You sit here and make yourself more miserable," he continued, pointing to the weapon. "Go...see him...ease your mind."

"The boy's better off thinking that I'm dead," Allan answered curtly, his grip tightening on the rifle.

"Better for him, or for you?" The dark skinned man shook his head. "Why do you guard that weapon like it was the young man himself?"

"That's preposterous!" the hunter chuffed out indignantly.

"Are you punishing him for something then?"

Quatermain glared angrily at the man. "He did nothing but follow me! And what did he get for it? Damn near got his throat slit...that's what!"

"Ah..., so it is yourself that you are punishing," the witch doctor mused aloud.

"I don't have bloody time for this...," Allan growled as he rose from his chair. He sent the witch doctor one final glare before storming off. Nosey, tribal doctors...

Before he could exit the Britannia Club, the doors swung open wide, and an elderly man rushed up to him. One of the few explorers who was lucky enough to have been outside the club when the horrible bombing happened months earlier, Jonathan Smithe, knew the famous man before him was his only hope.

"Allan!" Smithe cried out, his face red and his breath labored from the exertion of running. "Need your help! Please!"

Quatermain grasped the man by the shoulders before he crumbled into a heap. "Get this man a drink!" he ordered the barkeep. Helping his friend to a nearby chair, the hunter loosened the man's clothing. "Now calm down, Smithe, and tell me what this is all about."

Smithe thrusted a piece of paper into Allan's chest. "Read this...help me...," he implored his old friend, taking a sip of the strong drink the African bartender gave him.

Giving his friend a quizzical look, Quatermain did as asked, reading over a letter that was obviously penned in a hurry.

_Father,_

_I write this to you at great risk, but I fear I have no other recourse. I know that you are acquainted with many influential people, and so could help me. Please forgive my intense secretiveness over your receiving of this letter, but as you will find, it is necessary. Over the past months, many of my colleagues have seemed to have disappeared. At first I didn't pay much mind...after all...our work for the government is hazardous. I have never told you this before, Father, but I am an agent for the British empire. I had to keep it a secret from you, but now I can no longer stay silent. When four agents disappeared, all the same mysterious way, I became concerned. It has now become ten agents, and I fear something evil is afoot. I cannot get any answers from my superiors, and I know they have been watching me day and night since my inquiries. Thankfully I have been able to sneak away from my guards, and have discovered some alarming facts. Agents from several governments around the globe are also missing. Not a trace of them found, dead or alive. America has had five agents gone missing in the past two weeks..._

Quatermain didn't finish, his mind reeling. Missing agents? He looked down at the rifle placed beside Smithe's chair, one young man coming clearly into his thoughts.

Sawyer?

"How long ago did you receive this letter?"

"Less than a day ago," Smithe answered. "Can you help me find David? I have this awful feeling that he is in trouble!"

"He may not be the only one," Allan muttered, his gut tightening at the idea his young American friend was possibly in a dire situation.

"Will you go meet with David then?" Smithe pleaded. "He specifically asked for you."

"He did?" Quatermain's brow furrowed. How did the younger Smithe know he was alive? Smithe only found out days ago himself, and there wasn't enough time to tell his son. Certainly the British government knew of his death... The old adventurer snorted softly to himself. And certainly the British government would know he survived too.

"It's in the letter," Smithe persisted. "Don't tell me that you didn't finish reading it, man!"

Patting his friend reassuringly on the arm, Allan rose and motioned for the tribal doctor to come over and check the other man out. "I'm leaving immediately, Jonathan. I can't promise you much, but I will look into it." Assured his friend was going to be all right, the hunter tucked the letter into the pocket of his jacket and hastened out of the club. Inside he fervently prayed that Sawyer wasn't one of the missing agents, while the outside facade showed a steely-eyed determination.

There would be no mercy for anyone who laid a hand on that boy!

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Another pile of papers were plopped down in front of him. Sawyer sighed heavily and frowned in displeasure. He wished now that he had asked Nemo to delay his coming home for even longer. The Nautilus' captain had made an offer to that extent, but the American agent didn't want to infuriate his superiors any further. After all, he had gone over their heads to come to England, and finish what his murdered friend, Huck Finn, had started.

"Don't be so down in the dumps, Tom," a pleasantly plump secretary smiled. She fought to control her blushing when the handsome spy looked up at her and grinned shyly. "You won't be in the woodshed for long."

"Wish they woulda taken the tree branch to me and be done with it," Tom replied with another frown. "I forgot all about this '_part_' of the Secret Service."

"The Secret Service was created for this purpose," the blonde woman reminded him. She regarded the younger man before her with a tinge of pity. "I know it must be hard for you after getting to trot all over the globe, to have to come back and do paperwork about some boring forgers."

"Always did prefer doin' things, rather than readin' 'bout them," Sawyer admitted. "Never guessed there'd be so many idiots tryin' to fake our money."

"With you on the job, they won't be getting away with it for long."

Giving the woman a disarming grin, the spy picked up a folder and opened it. "Appreciate the words, Miss Laura."

Laura Appleton left the room, placing a hand over her racing heart. That man did that to her every time! She giggled inwardly as she rounded the corner to her little desk, her day made complete just from a smile and soft drawl. Thank goodness Tom Sawyer wasn't around much...or she'd never get any work done!

Sawyer heard the firm footsteps before he even saw the man enter his work area. Reluctantly he looked up, knowing he would have to get this initial meeting over with. When he had left Washington, the Secret Service director, Trevor Whitcomb, was not a happy man. Whitcomb and supervisor, Patrick Malloy, had forbidden his assignment to the Fantom, claiming he was too '_close_' to the case. Undeterred, the young agent took his argument to the Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt, knowing the rowdy statesman would see his side and help him convince the proper people. Within a week, Tom was on the first ship bound for Europe.

"Agent Sawyer," Patrick Malloy greeted casually as the younger man rose from his chair.

"Sir," Sawyer answered back with a nod of his head, forcing his tense body to relax. Malloy had been the most vocal about going after the Fantom, and sometimes Tom got the faint impression his supervisor was less than confident in his abilities.

"Just recently got back into town myself, so I haven't had the chance to say it's nice to have you back on American soil."

"Thank you, Sir," the blonde agent said without much enthusiasm. He forced a smile when he noticed his boss scrutinizing him. "Seems things have quieted down a bit."

"You mean the paperwork?" Malloy suppressed a smug grin. "Oh, things are going to be very quiet for you for a while, Agent Sawyer. I think you've had enough action back in Europe...need to rest a bit."

"Yes, Sir," Sawyer half muttered, trying to keep his disappointment from being too obvious. He was being punished...pure and simple.

Malloy turned to leave, his message delivered. Stopping at the doorway, he paused, giving the disheartened young man a fleeting smile. "By the way...excellent job on your work with the Fantom. Did your Country proud."

"Thank you, Sir," Tom replied. A brief moment of sadness entered his heart, his mind going back to Quatermain. No, he couldn't wallow in this defeatist attitude any longer, Allan wouldn't approve.

Seeing the somber look cross the handsome agent's face, Malloy remembered hearing of Allan Quatermain's death at the Fantom's castle in Mongolia. "Sorry about Quatermain, Sawyer. From what I've heard about him, he sounded like quite a character."

"Yes..., yes he was," Tom concurred with a reverent tone. Clearing his throat, the spy pointed to his pile of paperwork. "I best be gettin' back to work."

Nodding his head, the senior agent left the room, knowing that Quatermain's death was plainly too sensitive a subject to bring up now. Maybe after a few days Sawyer would open up more about what had really happened in that castle. There was definitely something deeper gnawing on his top agent's mind.

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Quatermain glanced up at Big Ben through the thick London fog, his impatience growing. He had re-read the letter David Smithe wrote several times, following the instructions for the clandestine meeting to the exact spot. Had the lad been abducted too? A chill raced down his spine...had Sawyer been taken as well? The seasoned hunter forced any other negative thoughts from his mind. He'd drive himself crazy with worry if he kept this up!

"Mr. Quatermain?"

"David Smithe?" the adventurer countered, peering into the fog-hazed distance. Under a nearby gas street lamp, a figure began to emerge. Allan rubbed at his eyes, unsure he was seeing correctly. The last time he had seen David, he was a tall, slender young man, but the person coming towards him was rather plump, and decidedly much older. Instinctively, he clutched at the modified Winchester by his side, ready for any treachery.

"My apologies, Mr. Quatermain," the man said in a quiet, dignified voice, "but I'm afraid I used David Smithe's name falsely."

"Explain yourself," Quatermain threatened, raising his rifle mid-way. "I don't care much for games."

The elegantly dressed gentleman edged closer, his round, handsome face showing no ill intentions. "So I've heard. My name is Bond...Campion Bond, from British Intelligence."

"What? Come to ask me to help Queen and country by assembling a group of unique individuals?" Quatermain scoffed. "I've already heard that speech, and all it bloody did was get me..."

"Killed?" Bond finished. "I admit I was quite astonished to hear you had actually survived... Mr. Skinner and the others were positive you had perished."

"I'm here," the older man snapped irritably, lowering the gun slightly. "And I ought to smack you upside the head with the butt of this rifle for using..."

"Your American friend as an enticement?" Bond interrupted.

"No, Smithe's son," Allan argued half-heartedly.

"But I'm sure you came more out of concern for Agent Sawyer," Bond said smoothly. "I see you are carrying around that rather distinct rifle he used."

"How do you know..."

"So much about you and the others?"

"Stop that!" Quatermain growled angrily.

"What? Finishing your thoughts?"

"I am perfectly capable of finishing my sentences," Allan muttered indignantly, "and you still haven't answered my question properly as to why you brought me here under false circumstances."

"If you'll indulge me," Bond asked, pointing to the still aimed rifle, "I intend to do just that. We'll take a small stroll, and I'll explain to the best of my knowledge, our government's urgent need of your assistance."

"I'm not interested," the hunter replied cooly as he began to turn away.

"Agent Sawyer could be in dire peril as we speak," Bond threw out, praying it would prevent Quatermain from leaving. It did.

"So help me..., if this is another bloody..."

"Ruse?" Seeing the look of annoyance on Allan's face, Bond shrugged. "Sorry. David Smithe has been missing for several days, and as my letter has indicated, America has missing agents as well."

"You think whoever is behind this has gone after Sawyer?" Though he tried to hide it, the worry in the adventurer's voice shown through. "Do you know if he's all right?"

"At the moment, yes. He's back in the States, and for the time being, has been assigned paperwork detail." Bond rubbed the neat goatee on his rounded chin, and motioned for Quatermain to join him in a walk. "But Agent Sawyer is their top field agent, and they can't afford to keep him contained for long."

"Sawyer is their best agent?" Receiving a nod of confirmation, Allan felt a tinge of fatherly pride for his young friend. Despite even his own misgivings at first, Sawyer had proven his worth to the League.

"He's a very...spirited...young chap, isn't he?" Bond mused out loud, having thoroughly read over Agent Sawyer's records.

Quatermain chuckled sarcastically. "Spirited is only a moderate term to describe Sawyer. The boy seems to crave action, and if its not happening, he creates it." The tone softened as the hunter thought back to the young spy's often over enthusiastic methods. "But he's a smart and courageous lad whose not afraid to try."

"That would explain why the American government actively sought him out and recruited him." Noting the explorer's interest piqued, Bond continued, hoping the man's fondness for the American would result in the desired goal; Allan Quatermain back at the helm of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.


	2. chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Mrs. Mina Harker strolled stiffly into the spacious lounge of the London hotel, her pale beauty causing the heads of many men to turn in her direction. The woman ignored them, the only men she was truly seeking only several feet away. Seated comfortably at a table were her fellow League members, all awaiting her news.

"What'd they say?" Skinner pressed, his face now covered in a more natural shade of a facial paint; courtesy of Nemo's science and Mina's chemistry knowledge.

"The American government has no national interest in sending Agent Sawyer to assist us," Mina quoted from the American ambassador to England as she sat down primly in a chair Captain Nemo held out for her.

"So...we tell ol' Bond we ain't going to do the dirty work?" Rodney reasoned.

"If the American government doesn't see the importance, maybe we shouldn't either," Mina suggested. "Besides, I don't like being kept in the dark as to our mission. It doesn't bode well."

"Are we agreed on this matter?" Nemo asked the others.

"I admit, I would have felt better if Tom could have joined us," Henry Jekyll added, remembering all the times the young American kept their spirits up with his determination and optimism, "but weren't we commissioned as a league by the Queen herself? Don't we have to accept?"

Nemo bristled at the thought, his dark eyes sparking. "I am no subject of the British Empire...I have earned my freedom."

"Nemo is right," Mina agreed, her blue eyes catching the arrival of an elegant carriage outside the large picture window near their table. "We all earned our rewards, so to speak. We do not have to accept anything." She turned her gaze again to the window, watching a tall man leave the coach, his down-turned hat hiding his features. There was something about him... Mina shrugged it off mentally, returning her attention to the matter at hand.

"What about you, Mr. Skinner?" the auburn haired lady asked cooly. They had only recently discovered that their invisible comrade had actually been a British spy, placed purposely among them by Campion Bond. "Are you still only loyal to the Empire?"

Leaning back in his chair, Skinner faked a pout. "Mina...Mina..., it cuts me to the quick that you would doubt my loyalty."

"Spare me your double talk," Mina interrupted. "Are you with us or not?"

"Actually, my role as a spy was a one time performance," the invisible man admitted. "I'm willing to tell Bond to bugger off."

"I'm not," a familiar voice boomed from behind the group. Four pairs of eyes turned to see the very alive figure of Allan Quatermain standing before them.

Mina's ivory skin paled even further as she grouped for words. "You...you...how?"

Throwing his hands up quickly, Quatermain tried to keep his voice calm while watching the woman's eyes nearly pop out of her skull. "Now, Mrs. Harker...don't be having a swooning spell..." As the words had left his mouth, a loud sound, like a chair smashing upon the ground, caught his attention. "Skinner?" Peering over the table, the adventurer saw the sprawled out figure of the former thief...out cold on the floor.

"Swooning spell," Mina huffed indignantly, sending a searing look Allan's way. Even as an apparition, this insufferable male was making assumptions! "Is this your ghost coming to tell us something of great importance, or are you just making a haunting?"

"I'm no ghost," Quatermain replied testily. "It's a long story, and one I have no time to tell." Turning to Nemo, the old hunter met the captain's confused and shocked gaze. "I need the Nautilus. I need to get to America as fast as you can get me there."

"America?"

Sending a stern look to everyone at the table, Allan straightened. "We're getting Sawyer." He turned on his boot heel, expecting to hear the others following after him, but only heard silence. "What?" he barked impatiently at the group, who were still staring at him in amazement.

Jekyll raised a hesitant hand towards Quatermain's coat sleeve, feeling solid flesh under his slight touch. "By jove! He is alive!" he cried out jubilantly.

"The old man ain't dead?" Skinner asked groggily from the floor.

"This old man doesn't have time for this foolishness!" Quatermain's hazel eyes flashed intensely. "Every moment we waste could mean trouble for the boy!" Each person at the table rose instantly.

"Our young friend is in danger?" Nemo voiced for the rest of the League.

Allan nodded gravely. "I'll explain on our way to America. This is too public a place, and it would take precious time away from me getting to Sawyer before it's too late." The adventurer glanced at his fellow members, receiving a silent word of commitment from each of them. Satisfied, he led the way to the carriage, his comrades falling in step behind him.

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The steady hum of Nautilus' engine filled the lavishly decorated library, giving the people inside a sense of safety. Here, in the sanctuary of Nemo's submarine, the League could be who they truly were...free from the curious and condemning. Situated around a large, rectangle table, they waited eagerly for their leader to inform them of Sawyer's status. Ever since Campion Bond approached them for help, the remaining members of the group demanded Tom be included in any further exploits. All efforts had been refused by the American government, but if Allan Quatermain said he was getting Sawyer...

Then it was going to happen.

His tall, imposing figure hovering near the end of the table, Quatermain cleared his throat. "From what Bond told me, spies from several countries have been disappearing in recent weeks..."

"Sawyer?" Mina interrupted in concern. Despite her coolness towards the young agent at first, she found herself growing quite fond of the scrappy and handsome American.

The hunter lifted a hand in reassurance. "Safe for now, but Bond said there are five agents missing from America, and its only a matter of time before whoever is behind this goes after the lad. Once we get Sawyer back with us, we can then investigate these disappearances."

"Did Mr. Bond happen to mention if these disappearances have anything to do with the solar flares that have been spotted coming from Mars?" Mina asked. "That was our proposed mission, to discover where the flares have landed on Earth."

"Landed?"

"There's speculation that the flares are actually objects leaving Mars," Nemo provided. "Other than some co-ordinates, the British government has said nothing more."

"And didn't these fares begin appearing a few months ago?" Jekyll remembered.

His eyes narrowing, the old adventurer thought on the possibility. "Flares can't snatch up people," he continued, wanting to focus back on getting Sawyer safely into their fold.

"Were any of the missing agents investigating the flares?" Mina wondered aloud. "Could you ask Mr. Bond?"

"Perhaps that is a subject you can take up with the man yourself, Mrs. Harker," Quatermain replied curtly. "All I know is my only goal is to get to America!" He stopped, his impassioned words embarrassing him slightly.

"We're all worried about him," Mina said softly. "Maybe having all the facts before us may help..."

"Then you do just that, Mrs. Harker. Gather all the information you can find about the flares," Allan suggested impatiently, "after we get Sawyer."

"I can do that while you boys take your little trip," Mina pointed out. "My female intuition tells me that the kidnapings and the flares might be connected."

"We don't have the time to spare!" Quartermain responded hotly. He eyed the half-human vampiress with a scowl. Didn't she care at all about the boy's safety?

Mina glared at the explorer. Didn't he care that rushing blindly into a situation could get Tom into deeper trouble? "We don't have the time to go playing hero when we have no idea what we're up against! There's a port only minutes from here," she informed the League's leader. "Get me close enough to land, and I can handle it from there."

"Alone?"

The auburn haired beauty bristled at the comment. After all they had been through, Quatermain still held her abilities in a low regard. "As I've demonstrated before, I don't require the assistance of any man." She rose regally from her seat and began to leave the room. Stopping at the doorway, she whirled around. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must prepare for my trip."

"Bloody females," Allan groused under his breath.

The other three League members exchanged knowing smiles. Yes, their arrogant, impatient, and querulous leader was truly back.


	3. chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Glancing at his pocket watch for what seemed like the hundredth time, Sawyer rubbed at the ache forming in his right temple. He'd go cross-eyed if he looked at another piece of paper! In a few minutes it would be finally time to call it a day. Placing the stacks of papers in neat piles, the young agent tried to appear busy, all the while griping in his mind about his current assignment.

"That bad, huh, Tom?"

Sawyer swivelled around in alarm. He had been so engrossed in feeling sorry for himself that he was caught totally unaware. Not a good trait in the line of work he was in.

"Hello, Joe," the blonde spy greeted sheepishly.

Joe Harper offered a sympathetic smile. "It must be bad if I was able to sneak up on you."

"Have a lot on my mind lately," the slightly younger man shrugged.

Looking past his childhood friend and fellow agent, Harper nodded. "Got you on paper detail?"

"Yeah." Tom glanced forlornly at the mounds of documents. "Was told I needed some rest for a while."

Harper could only shake his head in commiseration. The only time field agents were assigned desk duty was because of injuries, or when the higher ups used the boring task as a form of punishment. Since Sawyer came back with only minor injuries; it had to be punishment.

He too had been upset over Huck Finn's death, having grown up in the same town as Tom and Huck, but he wasn't as close to the slain spy as the man before him. It was only logical that Sawyer would demand to finish what his friend had set in motion, but Joe could also see his superior's position too. They had already lost one agent to the Fantom...and Tom's judgement could've been easily clouded by revenge. Thankfully, he didn't lose another childhood friend to this maniac, and it was only fitting justice that Sawyer was the one who ended the evil man's reign of terror.

"You need some cheerin' up, Tom. How 'bout we go get us a mug of beer, and you can tell me all about how you managed to infiltrate this so called 'League of Extraordinary Gentlemen'," Joe suggested with a wink and smile. "I know its got to be a whopper of a tale!"

Suppressing a sigh, Sawyer nodded mutely. A night out did sound good, but was he up to telling this story? Thrusting his hands into his pockets, the young agent sat gingerly on the top corner of the desk behind him, deciding to finally break his silence. If he couldn't tell his old friend,who could he tell?

"Sure...a cold beer sounds real good. Need to breathe somethin' other than the air in this stuffy ol' room," Tom answered with a wan grin. "You buyin'...right?"

"No, he's not." Both men turned in surprise as they found the Secret Service director, Trevor Whitcomb, standing in the open doorway. "Caught off guard? That is not good, gentlemen," the older man chastised in his faint, British accent. "Even though you are in an office surrounded by tight security, it is not impregnable."

"Yes, Sir," both agents said in unison.

Fixing a chilly look Harper's way, Whitcomb frowned in displeasure. "Agent Sawyer will go to his lodging...and stay there. He needs to rest after his ordeal overseas, and not wallow in the frivolities of a saloon. Do you remember that the discussion of cases out in public is forbidden?"

"Yes, Sir," Harper conceded, lowering his gaze. "I wasn't thinkin'."

"No, Agent Harper, you weren't. That seems to be a bad habit of yours." The harsh tone softened when the head of the Secret Service turned to his top agent. "Before you leave tonight, Agent Sawyer, stop by my office."

"Of course, Sir." Sawyer shifted nervously, casting a quick look in his old friend's direction. He wished Whitcomb hadn't been so caustic in his comments. Joe was only trying to help.

Watching the director leave, Harper caught Sawyer's eyes. It was the same sympathetic look Tom always gave his two friends whenever Whitcomb had chewed either him or Finn out for something. Joe couldn't blame Sawyer though. Even when they were kids, Tom always got the attention, whether he deliberately set out to get it or not. Sawyer had always sought out the thrill of adventure, as well as being naturally curious and clever on his feet. It was something to aspire to, not be jealous of.

"Maybe I could '_sneak_' out for a bit," Tom began before being silenced by Joe's raised hand.

"Don't worry on it, Tom," Harper said with a shrug. "Well...I guess I'll be seein' you tomorrow."

"See ya, Joe," the blonde replied with a tinge of regret. How much more rest did he need? Turning off the gas lamp on the table, Sawyer begrudgingly headed out the door, and down the long hallway to Whitcomb's office.

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Having safely dropped Mina off at the nearest port, the four remaining League members settled back inside Nemo's spacious library, setting their next plan into motion. The Indian captain pulled out several architectural blue prints of the building that housed the American Secret Service offices, and unrolled them on the table.

"How'd you manage to get these, Nemo?" Skinner asked in amazement. "Ain't the Yanks worried 'bout who might use these floor plans against them?"

"Let's just say I have my resources," Nemo replied with a secretive smile. "These are only copies, made by the same man who designed the building."

"Will we be able to reach this man if we need any extra assistance?" Quatermain queried, studying over the large sheets of paper.

"I'm afraid not. The architect, and even some of the crew who helped erect the building were tragically killed in an accident shortly after construction was completed."

Skinner nudged Jekyll with his arm. "Remind me never to get a job over there as a laborer..."

Henry grinned slightly, but had a nagging question of his own. "Why would we need floor plans? Aren't we going to get the American government's approval for Tom to help us?"

Quatermain shrugged his broad shoulders, a gleam dancing in his eyes. "That's the original plan, yes. But I want to know what I'm dealing with in case we're dealt a different hand. We might need to make a hasty retreat once we get to Sawyer."

"You aren't suggesting that you might kidnap Tom yourself?" Jekyll cried out in disbelief.

"Better me than whoever is going after these agents." The old hunter looked at the doctor with a challenge to his demeanor. "I intend to get the boy out by any means necessary. You have a problem with that, Jekyll?"

"I won't be your only objector. I'm afraid the American government itself might object highly!" Jekyll nearly shrieked. "Abducting a secret agent could cause an international incident, not to mention get us and Tom himself into serious trouble! Why...he could be hanged for treason if he decides to stay on with us!"

"Don't get all upset, doctor," Allan grumbled. "I have the situation well in hand."

"Mind letting us know how well?" Skinner threw in.

Arching his one eyebrow, Quatermain smirked, and patted the inside pocket of his jacket vest. "Let's just say I have my resources too."


	4. chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Campion Bond sank wearily behind his lavish desk. Pulling out the files on the missing agents, he began to pour over them again, hoping for some tiny bit of information he might have missed. He wouldn't be able to hide these disappearances for long, and feared the panic that might ensue from the masses finding out. A knock on his door brought the senior agent from his thoughts, and he greeted his secretary with barely a grunt as she handed him the morning paper.

"Damn bloody newspaper!" Bond cursed out loud as he scanned the front page headline. Noticing the startled look in his secretary's eyes, the plump man cleared his throat. "Sorry. I do get so tired of these outlandish stories about Martian invaders..."

The woman calmed and managed a slight smile. "Quite all right, Sir. Don't forget your 10:30 appointment with the head of Parliament this morning."

Bond wanted to groan at the thought. Chester Harrison would be the first person in line demanding answers...answers that weren't there. "Yes, thank you," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. Hearing the door close, the head agent picked up the paper and frowned.

These simpleton's had no idea how close they might be to the truth.

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"Come in," Trevor Whitcomb called out when he heard the firm knock on his office door. He smiled warmly when Sawyer entered, and urged him to take a seat across from the desk. The young man before him was a shining example of what it took to make a good agent, and it pleased the director of the Secret Service that he had a big role in that.

He knew Tom Sawyer was special the day he saw him in a backwater Arkansas court house, defending his Uncle Silas, who was on trial for murder. Even the old man believed himself guilty, but the teenaged Sawyer figured out the plot, surprising everyone in the room by revealing the true culprits and the motivation...revenge.

Ever since that day, Whitcomb kept an eye on the boy, finding out what information he could, and when Sawyer as old enough, he approached Tom with an offer to join the newly formed Secret Service. It didn't take much convincing to get the youth on board, but he wanted his friend, Huckleberry Finn, to join as well. That wasn't part of the plan, but Whitcomb relented, against his better judgement. Finn wasn't as bold and daring as Sawyer was.

The older man thought back to that decision, how it changed things so drastically for the blonde agent. If he had stuck to his guns and said no to Finn joining, the young man would still be alive, and Tom would have never met Allan Quatermain, another death that obviously weighed on Sawyer's mind.

"Somethin' wrong, Mr. Whitcomb?" Sawyer asked, watching the looks that crossed over his superior's face.

"Just thinking about the past, and how it can come back and haunt you," the director replied somberly. He placed his cool, grey eyes upon his top agent. "I'm sorry your excursion overseas ended so tragically."

"So am I," the blonde admitted, lowering his head slightly.

Whitcomb rose from his chair and sat on the edge of his desk, directly in front of Sawyer. "Talk to me, Tom. I know something is bothering you, and I'm afraid that if you don't get it resolved, I'll be forced to keep you on desk detail longer." Seeing the mixture of hesitation and disappointment on the young man's face, his tone turned fatherly. "We've been through a lot together, lad. I've always hoped that you saw me as someone you could trust as well as being your administrator."

"I do trust you, Mr. Whitcomb," Sawyer answered, "with my life. I owe you so much."

"Then how about repaying me by letting me help you."

The young spy shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothin' you can do really. Can't change what happened."

"But sometimes talking about it helps you deal with the issue."

"I'm dealin' with it," Tom insisted half-heartedly.

Whitcomb frowned. "Not from where I'm sitting." He studied Tom intently. "Is it stemming from how Quatermain died, protecting you?" The look of pain radiating from Sawyer's face told the former Briton he had struck a nerve. "Allan did what he thought was right. I know he didn't regret his decision, so don't you."

"Did you know him?" Sawyer asked in bewilderment, noting the personal use of the adventurer's name.

The senior spy smiled coyly. "We grew up together, went to the same college,...even fell in love with the same woman. I'd say I knew him."

"How come you never said anythin' before?"

Whitcomb shook his head and sighed. "I haven't spoken to Allan in years, lad." His eyes took on a far away look as the past swam over his memories. "Shortly after the funeral, I came to America to start my life over..., and Allan bunkered down in Africa."

"His son's funeral?" Sawyer ventured to guess.

"He told you about his son, Harry?" Whitcomb's voice expressed surprise as Tom nodded in the affirmative.

"Didn't say much 'bout him, just that he died in his arms durin' an expedition that they had been on for the British government." The young man paused, recalling the sadness and guilt in Quatermain's face and speech. "I felt so bad for him, but didn't know what to say."

A deep pang of remorse hit Tom down in his gut, reminding him of another time he wasn't able to express any comfort. He closed his eyes and lowered his head; Allan's last moments on Earth replaying over and over. Why did he just stand there while Quatermain was struggling to give him a parting message of encouragement? The man he saw as the closest thing to a father figure he ever had was dying...and all he could do was stare. Hell, he hadn't even noticed Allan had been stabbed, his mind only focused on getting the Fantom. He couldn't manage one simple good-bye or thank you for the great sacrifice the man made.

"Tom?" Whitcomb gently tapped Sawyer on the right shoulder, drawing the agent back to the present. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. This isn't like you to be so absent-minded."

Sawyer couldn't answer, knowing his superior was right. How should he expect to be placed back into action when he couldn't even concentrate on a conversation? Nemo's words to him on the Nautilus echoed in back of his mind. Quatermain would want him to carry on as before, learning from the situation, and striving to better himself. Looking up at the Secret Service director, the blonde agent nodded in compliance.

"Reckon I do need to get a bit off my mind."

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Nemo sighed patiently as he heard the all too familiar opening of the rifle barrel. Passing by the reclining Quatermain, he stopped and pointed to the Winchester. "We will be arriving on America's shores in a day."

"You've already told me that many times before, Nemo," Allan countered with a frown, clicking the rifle back into place.

"Yes, and I've also told you...many times...to stop obsessively playing with Sawyer's gun." The captain found himself smiling at the glare the old adventurer was giving him. "If it was our youngest doing this, I'm sure you would give him a great oratory on the importance of gun care, and how not to annoy his fellow League members."

A soft chuckle left the older man as he put the rifle down on his lap. "Been that bad, have I? Don't know why I'm doing it..."

"I have my lady at her fullest speed. We are making record time." Nemo cast a sympathetic look Quatermain's way. "We'll reach him, Allan...we'll reach him in time."

Fingering the gun's length, Quatermain nodded. "I've never been a patient man..." He stopped and shook his head forcefully, rising from his chair in one fluid motion. "And bloody hell if this isn't driving me insane! Worse yet, the poor lad has no idea someone might be after him! Bloody bureaucrats!" he roared in frustration. "If anything has happened to Sawyer...I'm going to use this gun..."

"You won't shoot them, Allan," Nemo interjected, placing a calming hand on the older man's shoulder.

"No," groused Quatermain, "but I sure as hell would smack those bastards up side the head with it."

"A fitting use for such a fine weapon," Nemo said sarcastically. His keen, dark eyes scanned the Winchester. "That was why you let young Sawyer into the League wasn't it? Because of this rifle?"

A small smile gracing his weathered, but still handsome face, Quatermain met Nemo's gaze. "No, I was only letting the boy think that."

Nemo raised a curious eyebrow. "Really? Were you rewarding him for his heroic effort back at Gray's residence?"

Again Allan smiled. "No." Lifting the rifle slightly in the air, he jerked his head towards it. "Do you honestly think that boy would have taken '_no_' for an answer?"

Both men shared small chuckle at the thought.

"We probably would have found him stowed away upon the Nautilus," Nemo grinned under his heavy mustache.

Quatermain shook his head. "More than likely Sawyer would've '_found_' us to let everyone know he had stowed away."

"But he did help us greatly in our quest," Nemo added, "more than once. We needed him as much as he needed us."

The amusement left Quatermain's face as he placed the Winchester beside his vacated chair. "How did I help him?" he asked bitterly. "By getting the lad nearly killed?"

"I recall having this conversation before," the Indian captain spoke. "Instead it was young Sawyer blaming himself for your demise." Seeing the guilty look cross over Allan's face, Nemo dared ask the question that was upmost in his mind since the dramatic return of their leader. "Why didn't you tell anyone...especially Sawyer, that you were alive? You had to know he would be feeling guilt over what happened."

Regretting his rash statement, Quatermain bowed his head, wondering if Nemo and the witch doctor back in Africa were related, seeing how they could both read him so easily. Or maybe he had gotten that transparent in his old age, something he was never accused of before. Allan searched the face of the man beside him, surprised by the trust he had after such a brief acquaintance.

"I felt the boy would be better off thinking I was dead," the hunter tried to explain, his mind groping for the right words to speak. "Sooner or later he would deal with what happened, realizing there was nothing different he could have done...and be a better man for it."

But the Indian captain saw between the lines. "You couldn't face him," Nemo surmised. "Even though you risked your life in the end to spare Sawyer's, you feel you let him down somehow, put him into that situation."

"I was too bloody wrapped up into the '_hunt_'," Quatermain admitted gruffly. "I knew something was wrong when Sawyer was broadsided in the hallway. Why would Skinner hide if it was truly him?" His fists clenching tight, Allan softly pounded them on a nearby table as his tone grew angrier. "I brushed my instincts aside, and left Sawyer at the mercy of one of M's twisted mercenaries. I failed him Nemo."

"Sawyer is a grown man..."

"And still very young," Quatermain interrupted. "He doesn't have the years of experience like you or I... No, he was my responsibility. I never should have let him out of my sight."

"He has an independent spirit, an unquenchable thirst for adventure." Nemo threw a coy smile in Allan's direction. "Not unlike another I know."

The adventurer grumbled under his breath. "This isn't about me..."

"Isn't it? Did you sense a kindred spirit in Sawyer? Is that why you really allowed him into the League? To protect him from past mistakes you might've made?"

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Quatermain asked defensively. "By the way, Nemo...where the hell is all this going anyway?"

"I'm just preparing you for the future."

"The future?"

Placing his arms behind his brilliant, blue uniform, Nemo's features grew more somber. "Like I said before...you are both kindred spirits. Do not let the ghosts of your past haunt both of you." With that statement, the Indian captain left the hunter alone in the study to ponder his words.


	5. chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

The meeting with Parliament had been a disaster. Many members, led by Harrison, pounced on Bond's lack of information, demanding answers immediately. The head of British intelligence furiously stirred his freshly brewed cup of afternoon tea while his mind replayed the myriads of questions and rebukes.

"What do they know?" Bond muttered out loud to himself. "Don't have the slightest clue as to what's going on..."

"Neither do I," a sensual, female voice said from a corner of the room.

A loud crash echoed through the spacious office as the dainty tea cup smashed upon the hardwood floor. Bond rubbed lightly at his eyes, amazed at how the intruder got in. Quickly he scanned his domain for any sign of entry, but could find no immediate answers.

Mina Harker grinned ferally, her eyes sparking dangerously as she neared the plump man. "I heard you had a nice discussion with Mr. Quatermain," she purred, primly placing herself in a chair in front of Bond. "I would like the same courtesy extended to me."

"Didn't he inform you of everything?" Bond asked, recovering from the initial shock of the woman's arrival. He began to pick up the silver bell on his desk to ring his secretary, but Mina stopped him.

"The mess will keep, Mr. Bond, but my questions will not." Her ice blue eyes attached to the master spy's dark, beady ones. "And Mr. Q likes to fancy himself as the only guardian of this mission's knowledge...hence my presence today."

Bond found the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Keeping it close to the vest is he? Personally, it is Quatermain's decision, since he's the leader of your unique group."

"I fear his role as the '_great male protector_' may do more harm than good," Mina replied evenly, leaning closer towards the edge of the enormous, mahogany desk. "All he can see right now is protecting Agent Sawyer, not what is placing him in danger."

"I assume then you have some ideas as to the danger your young comrade is in?"

"The flares?" Mina barely hid her pleasure when the senior agent flinched. "I thought so. Now..., Mr. Bond, no more subterfuge. I'm sure your files have told you that I am not a woman to trifle with."

Bond nodded, knowing all too well of Mrs. Harker's powers. "I will assist you in your queries to the best of my abilities," he offered politely.

"I will accept nothing less," the auburn haired beauty smiled seductively.

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Wearily, Sawyer unlocked the door to his modest flat, which was nestled cozily in a smattering of similar buildings near his place of operations. Several Secret Service agents lived in these unassuming cabins, but lately most had been quiet and dark, telling the young spy his cohorts in espionage where away on missions; something Tom desperately wished he was doing. Having bared his inner turmoil over Allan's death to Whitcomb, the blonde agent hoped now he would be placed back into action.

The moment he entered inside, the hair at the base of his neck stood on edge. Cautiously he turned on the gas lamp near the doorway, while at the same time his hand slowly removed one of his revolvers from it's shoulder holster. Even though everything appeared untouched, Tom instinctively knew something wasn't right...but yet, something oddly familiar.

"Good evening," a silken, British accent mocked from a darkened corner of the room. Sawyer resisted the knee jerk response to drop his gun in shock as the figure began to emerge from the shadows. Instead, he held his weapon higher, his surprise turning to rage.

"I thought you were dead...Gray," Sawyer hissed between gritted teeth.

Dorian Gray only smiled, inching closer to the younger man. "Astute as ever," he teased, lifting a perfectly manicured hand towards the revolver. "We both know that weapon is useless against me. Put it down."

Sawyer remained firm. "Get out." he ordered.

With a disdainful curl of his lip, Gray lifted his hands up in a show of nonaggression. "At least hear me out first," he asked.

"Ain't got nothin' I want to hear!" Tom snapped, pulling the trigger back. "Get out."

"Really," Dorian replied with an exaggerated sigh.

Feeling the sword cane resting under his right palm, the dashing immortal rushed at the young agent, withdrawing his blade the same instant a bullet roared from Sawyer's gun. The dark haired man stumbled back a few inches as the bullet slammed into his heart, but instead of crumbling into a lifeless heap, Gray smiled coldly at his shooter, placing the tip of his sword at the hollow of Tom's throat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Gray chided smugly. "Your pathetic gun is as harmless as a toy one." The blade dug deeper into the American's skin. "But my sword is no child's play..."

"Then go ahead...do it!" Sawyer challenged, not flinching from the pressure of the blade.

Gray kept the sword in place, his mouth fixing into a sneer. "Oh no, my dear boy...I have much planned for you."

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Bond reluctantly pulled out all the paperwork detailing the mysterious '_flares_', and placed them near the female vampire, making sure not to get too close himself. "We have been receiving reports from astronomers around the globe for months about odd flashes of light coming from the planet Mars. Of course we didn't take much notice at first...until...the flares began to shoot towards Earth."

Giving a quick perusal through some of the documents, Mina looked up. "Is that when the agents started disappearing?"

"Yes," admitted the portly spy. "We sent two agents to the first so called landing. After three days we still haven't heard anything from the men, so we sent another agent to the same location. He couldn't find any trace of them. After he communicated that message, he vanished as well." Bond began to slowly pace around the office, the consternation clearly written on his face. "We suspected espionage from another country, but when agents from seven other countries disappeared...looking into the flares that had been seen in their areas, well...we feared it was more sinister threat."

"So you sent out more agents," Mina reasoned, "to investigate these disappearances?"

"As did other countries. All of them disappeared the same way, and it didn't matter how differently we approached things. No trace whatsoever. There hasn't been any ransom demands, not threats, no bodies...absolutely nothing."

"Where do the American agents fit into this scenario? Were they sent here to help investigate?"

Shaking his head, Bond stopped in mid-stride. "In recent weeks the flares have started showing up in America. We sent some agents over to help them. Our last agent vanished a few days ago, along with his American counterpart."

"How many agents from England are missing?"

"A little over a hundred."

"From the other countries?"

"About eight hundred men in total," Bond replied, clearing his throat.

Mina gasped at the staggering numbers. "Why didn't you tell us all this information in the first place?"

Bond shrugged. "Security reasons. We wanted-"

"The League to risk our lives without any questions!" Mina finished hotly. "I would say we aren't your average group of individuals, but still...not to tell us about this!"

"You're right, Mrs. Harker...you should have been told the truth from the beginning," Bond conceded with a heavy sigh. "That's why I convinced the government to allow me to approach Mr. Quatermain. A man like him would expect nothing less than the whole story."

"A man like him," Mina mocked, rising ominously from her chair. She leaned in close to the experienced spy, slapping her palms on the large desk in anger. "From now on, I'd suggest you'd be more mindful of a woman like me," she said sharply. Gathering up the pile of papers and files, the beautiful vampiress turned to leave. "Good day, Mr. Bond."

"Now wait a minute, Mrs. Harker!" Bond protested, hurrying after the woman. "You cannot leave with those papers! They are sensitive documents!" The half-vampire swivelled around and stared at her pursuer, the ice blue eyes turning a sinister red in reply. Swallowing hard, the spy stopped in his tracks, not daring to anger the '_creature_' inside the lady. "Please be careful with the contents, and return them as soon as possible," he offered weakly, willing his shaking limbs to calm.

"Be assured of it, Mr. Bond," Mina said with a devilish grin, her appearance returning to normal. "And I do thank you for your time and assistance."

"My pleasure," Bond forced out pleasantly. When the heavy door to his office closed, the master spy wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. He would rather face a hundred, angry, enemy soldiers than this one woman!


	6. chapter 6

Sawyer felt the sword blade nestle deep in the hollow of his throat, making speech or even swallowing difficult. He could only glare at his smug captor while his mind frantically searched for a way to get out of the situation.

"Not much for talking?" Dorian Gray taunted, enjoying the fire sparking in the younger man's eyes. With his free hand, the immortal pulled over a nearby chair, his blade remaining firmly in place. "Would you care to sit while I tell you of my reason for being here?"

"No," Tom grounded out between clenched teeth.

"Please, I insist," Dorian mocked with a wicked grin. When his prisoner refused to move, the handsome aristocrat rolled his eyes. "If you persist in your stubbornness, I will be forced to restrain and gag you." The liquid, brown eyes scanned the young spy's form, remembering in times past how he would take whoever he wanted....by force if necessary.

He licked his lips expectantly. "On second thought, please do resist...it'll bring back some fond memories."

Turning his head away in disgust, Sawyer wordlessly inched his way towards the chair, sucking in a deep breath as the blade was removed to allow his movement. "You sick bastard," he said spitefully as he sat stiffly in the high back chair.

The comment caused the immortal to chuckle out loud. "You have no idea," he cooed near Tom's ear, his lewd nature rising.

"Go to Hell!" Sawyer yelled, refusing to look in Gray's direction.

A sudden pain struck the normally indestructible man, bringing Gray almost to his knees. Gulping for air between stabs of affliction, Dorian struggled to stay upright. "Believe me, boy...I've been there," he squeezed through his constricted vocal chords.

Amazed at the genuine look of agony in Gray's face, the young agent swiftly disarmed his distracted captor, but stayed in place, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What's wrong with you?"

"That's...that's what I'm trying to tell you...," Dorian hissed in pain. As quickly as the pain came, it disappeared, making the vain man stumble towards a well-worn, but comfortable sofa. With much effort, he placed his entire body on the piece of furniture, his body still trembling from the aftermath.

"But I thought you didn't feel pain?" Tom uttered in surprise.

Gray only glowered in silence...furious he showed any frailty if front of the American. How could he be expected to give up centuries of decadent behavior in a matter of days? Glancing upwards, the immortal resisted the urge to blame his humiliation on the supreme being who placed him in this unbearable situation. It was bad enough he was plagued by dreams of horrid torment and unfathomable heat, he didn't need to experience it during his waking hours.

Beads of sweat glistened on the immortal's face as his labored breathing and paleness told the handsome spy that Dorian Gray truly was suffering. His Aunt Polly always said to help anyone in need...whether he was your friend or enemy. With great hesitation, Tom left the man who had betrayed the League to M, and went to his bedroom, digging out a large quilt from an old trunk at the foot of his bedframe. Minutes later he returned, tossing the blanket at Gray.

"What is this for?" Dorian demanded as his teeth chattered unabated.

"You're shakin' so bad, maybe the blanket will help warm you up some," Tom shrugged, retaking his seat. Noting Gray didn't attempt to reach for the quilt, the spy shook his head. "You said I was stubborn, guess you're a bigger jackass than I am."

"Be quiet!" Gray snapped, angrily grabbing at the blanket. He wrapped the thick piece of cloth around his shaking body, repelled by his need for it, and especially his dependence on the young, American, Sawyer.

Resisting the urge to goad the man further, Tom sat quietly, waiting for Gray to make the first move. Whatever had happened to the immortal after his fight to the death with Mina, Gray was no longer that same man.

"I'm sure this amuses you to no end," Dorian spat out, his brown eyes burning a hole into his former prisoner.

Sawyer gave the man a mischievous smile. "I know I'm sure happier not bein' on the end of this pig stick," he replied, inspecting Dorian's cane sword.

"Be careful with that!" Gray barked out. "That is a family heirloom, and it's centuries old!"

Tom gave the immortal a dirty look, but continued to study the fancy blade. "You were all hell bent on talkin' earlier, or is all your hot air gone now?"

"You ungrateful whelp!" Gray seethed. "I came here to help you...."

"Wait!" Sawyer's sandy brows rose. "Help me? You break into my home, attack me, and now you sit here and expect me to believe you're one of the good guys?" The hazel eyes blazed intensely. "Because of you, you low life son of a bitch...many good men died!"

"I have been made well aware of that fact!" The immortal rose shakily, still clutching the blanket tightly around him. "I have literally spent the past few months in Hell itself...reliving all my treachery and various sins!"

"What? Ol' Satan himself couldn't stand you?" Tom scoffed.

Scowling, Gray sat back down, the warmth of the blanket finally sinking into this icy body. "I have been given a second chance...so to speak...to make amends."

"A second chance? By who?"

"The Almighty," Gray muttered.

"God?" The agent broke out into laughter. "Why would He give a mangy pole cat like you a second chance?"

"Believe it or not, when I first received my immortality, I actually tried to help humanity," Dorian explained, irritated at the emphatic grin the American was giving him. "I plunged myself wholeheartedly into any good cause I could find."

The humor left as Sawyer found himself actually believing Gray. "I thought you wanted immortality so you could stay young forever."

"True." A thin smile formed on the vain man's mouth. "Along with vanity comes pride, and I strove for the praises of men for many years."

"What changed your mind?"

"Reality." A somber look overtook the immortal's features. "Watching your friends and love ones die year after year, the struggles between good and evil never ceasing, only recycling themselves into another form, another cause. After a while, I grew weary of the fight for goodness, honor and praise. It was much easier not to give a damn, and sink deeper into depravity."

"That's why the good Lord don't allow us to live so long," Tom mused, meeting Gray's astonished glance. "My Aunt Polly always told me a man should strive to do what's right, so that in the end, he'll reap his rewards in the hereafter. Reckon you never figured on havin' an '_end_' to worry about."

The aristocrat gave a disbelieving snort. "I think that is the most astute thing I've ever heard uttered from your mouth. You're obviously not as ignorant as you dress."

Tom smiled in spite of himself, startled at the small twinge of pity he felt for Gray. He couldn't begin to imagine living all those decades, maybe even centuries. It would be easy to see how one would grow bored with life.

Not wanting to go down the road of warm, compatible feelings, Gray's tone returned to it's more biting edge. "I am now here to help instead of destroy and mislead."

"What's to stop you from goin' back to how you were before?"

"That little 'display' I put on earlier is one way," the immortal begrudgingly admitted.

"So...there's other ways?" Sawyer wondered aloud.

"And they are none of your concern," Dorian replied testily. "Now, do you have another berth?"

"What?"

"Surely you're not that much of a dullard! A bed...you know...a place to lay my weary head?" the aristocrat jabbed coldly.

Sawyer rose from his chair in alarm. "Hey...you ain't stayin' here!"

"Where else am I to stay?" Gray threw off the blanket, thankful his need for it was over. "England took all my assets, and I'm in a foreign country with nothing but the clothes on my back. Besides, since I have to help you, I must stay close."

"Have to help me? And how the hell are you goin' to do that?" Sawyer demanded.

Reaching inside his vest pocket, Gray pulled out a worn journal, and placed it on a small table near the spy. "With this...for starters."

Picking up the familiar daybook, Tom couldn't hold back the moisture filling his eyes. He had seen it so many times before, his mind recalling the laid-back man who often scribbled his thoughts and adventures in it. Also in these pages would be his best friend's last days or hours in this life. Clutching the journal close to his chest, the agent threw Gray a hard glare.

"How'd you get this?"

"I stole it from M. He bragged it belonged to an American Secret Service agent he killed. I guess now it was providence."

"Or a damn lousy trick," Sawyer growled, "to get me to trust you."

The immortal threw up his hands in agitation. "What more proof do you need?" he cried out. "I could have killed you at any time, and not to mention revealed to you my vulnerability!"

"Well excuse me," Tom said snidely. "I can't for the life of me imagine why I can't trust your backstabbin', murderin', lyin', swelled headed, evil minded self!"

"Touche," the aristocrat conceded with a humorless smile. "But still, how can I prove I'm telling the truth? You tell me the one thing that will convince you of that fact, because quite frankly, I'm growing tired of your imbecility."

Reigning in his ire over the insult, Tom thought hard about the offer, a grin forming when he came up with the perfect question. "Okay," he paused for dramatic effect. "You tell me if you can be killed and how." The grin grew wider when he saw the absolute fear in the immortal's eyes. There was no faking that look!

"You...you...insolent pup!" Dorian sputtered in a mixture of rage and horror.

"It is true..ain't it?" You can be killed!" Sawyer nearly laughed out loud at the man's reaction, but held it in check, forcing his face to grow serious. "You either tell me, or you can go on back to that Hell hole you came from."

Angrily pulling on his faded suit jacket to keep from strangling the young upstart with his bare hands, Gray bowed his head in defeat. "Fine," he groused between gritted teeth. "I'll tell you."

"Damn straight you are," Sawyer replied with a grin, settling himself back in his chair. It wasn't everyday he bested an immortal.  
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The man turned, catching the shadowy figure in the corner of his eye. "You're taking a chance in coming here," he said sternly to the intruder.

"I had to risk it," the other man replied nervously. "Quatermain is still alive!"

"What?" the man gasped in dismay. "I was told he was dead and buried."

"Somehow he cheated death. I found out from several sources that it's true."

The man began to chuckle to himself. "I shouldn't be surprised really. There have been stories over the years of how people saw him die, only to see him resurface later...very much alive. I guess the tales are genuine after all."

"What are we going to do? He's coming here with the rest of the League!" The visitor was almost frantic.

"Here? When?"

"I found out he should be arriving the day after tomorrow. The President is going to meet with him as soon as Quatermain comes into town."

"Quatermain could ruin everything. Did you find out why he was coming here?" the man demanded of his underling.

"For Special Agent Sawyer."

The man began to clench his fists, a deadly look forming in his eyes. "Then Special Agent Sawyer had best not be here to greet his old teammates, should he?"

"But...but won't that get Quatermain and the League nosing into the 'invasion'?" the cohort cried out. "Everything is almost set for it to happen." His eyes darted around the room. "Do you think some other government has sent them to investigate?"

"I'm sure of it. We'll send the League on a wild goose chase, and by the time they figure everything out, we will have completed our goals. There will be nothing they can do to stop it then." Stroking his chin thoughtfully, the leader smiled wickedly. "I'll arrange the details of Agent Sawyer's abduction, and make sure the young gentleman is taken somewhere very special. Quatermain and the others will be so worried about finding their precious agent that we should be able to continue without much interference."

With a nod, the other man left his commander to plot another dark plan.


	7. chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I'm waitin'," Sawyer prompted the immortal.

"Do you have any idea what you are asking me to do?" Dorian asked, his voice rising in pitch. "What assurances do I have that you won't take this information and use it against me? Or tell the other League members...so they could finish me off?"

"My word," Tom vowed solemnly, "unless you deal me dirty...then all bets are off."

The immortal danced with the notion of just walking out the door, finding the nearest unmarried daughter of a rich socialite, and forget this impossible rascal. With less intensity, the pain that had humbled him before flared up, making the aristocrat disregard his thoughts of flight. He was stuck with the obnoxious American for the time being.

"I never required sleep before, but now I am forced to, like everyone else," Dorian eyed the young spy contemptuously, dragging his next words out slowly. "When I'm asleep, I am vulnerable, since I am, more or less, a mortal."

"That's how you can be killed? When you're sleepin'?" Tom was incredulous. "You're just a plain human when you're sleepin'? No invulnerability?"

"Yes," the handsome intruder snarled. "We don't need to reiterate that point over and over."

"How long do you normally sleep?"

"I have answered your importunate question, and now I wish to fill my rather famished stomach." The vain man walked past the startled agent and into the small kitchen area, lifting his nose disdainfully into the air. "Dear god, I do hope you have something edible..."

"Now wait a minute here!" Tom began to protest.

"That was our deal," Gray reminded the American. "I tell you my secret, and I get to stay."

"That ain't exactly how I remember it."

"Don't worry, I expect you not to pick up on the finer details," Dorian replied drolly, picking up an over ripe banana in disgust. "Has this hovel ever been properly cleaned? I won't find unmentionable creatures crawling over me while I sleep, will I?"

With a frown, Tom folded his arms across his chest, the immortal's prized sword dangling from one hand. "Well...Mr. high and mighty...just for that...you can fend for yourself!" The blonde threw the blade to his right, and immediately left the house.

Cursing the headstrong youth under his breath, Gray picked up his weapon and placed it back inside his elegantly carved cane. Were his crimes so horrible to be forced to play nursemaid to this insufferable fool?

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With her auburn hair neatly tucked under a large rimmed hat, Mina gazed over the peaceful countryside miles outside Manchester, trying to figure out the exact location of where the first agents disappeared. She hoped to imprint the site in her mind, then return in the evening, when her powers were greater. Since she wasn't a full blooded vampire, she could walk around in the sunshine, but not without painful side-effects if she stayed out too long.

Calculating all the information in the files, the pale woman found what she felt was the site, and began to scan the immediate area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except a faint, chalk-like line in a more open area of grassy fields. Bending down, the chemist rubbed the strange substance between her fingers, drawing it to her nose. The smell wasn't familiar.

Mina pulled out a tiny glass tube from her lace purse, and put a generous amount of the material inside it, corking the opening shut. Later that night she would make an '_aerial_' view of the place. As she walked around, she found more of the white paste, her curiosity building. There was almost a complete circle of it, and a rather humongous one at that.

She sensed a presence coming towards her, and Mina turned slowly, startling the intruder. The elderly man eyed her suspiciously, lifting a gnarled hand in the direction of the grassy field.

"What is your business here?" he demanded in a voice cracking with age. "You aren't another one of...them...are you?"

"If you can tell me who you are referring to, it may help in my explanation of being here," Mina replied calmly.

"Every time I talk to one of them, those lights show up."

"Lights?"

The man pulled himself back from the mysterious lady, unsure if he could trust her. Hadn't everyone else told him he was crazy? "You best be going, lassie. This isn't a safe place anymore." He turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Mina called out. "I'll believe you!"

"What do you know of what I'm talking about?"

Placing a gloved hand on top of the old man's wrinkled one, the vampiress gave a reassuring smile. "I think those '_lights_' took those men, didn't it?"

Happy to finally meet someone who didn't think him insane, the older man began to tell his tale, realizing that Mina was not like the others who had come here before her. He had tried to warn the other men who came after the lights first appeared, but they had vanished the same way...engulfed by the brilliant light that hovered overhead.

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"Leave me alone!" Tom hollered to the figure strolling behind him.

"As much as I would enjoy that notion," Dorian replied dryly, "my forced commitment to your safety stands." He grinned smugly when the blonde spy whirled around in agitation. "Are we going somewhere proper to dine?"

"And what exactly are you supposed to be protectin' me from?" Sawyer snapped.

The handsome immortal shrugged nonchalantly. "Wasn't told much actually. Only to make sure that you are safe, and to have you get me back into the League."

"Me?" the young man spat out. "I couldn't get you back into the League...even if I wanted to!" Turning on his boot heel, Tom began to quicken his pace, hoping the vain fop would soon tire of following.

"You have the best chance out of anyone to convince them," Gray insisted, walking faster to keep up.

Stopping briefly, Sawyer decided to finish the conversation. "I'm not part of the League anymore," he said curtly. "You'll have to take it up with one of the others. Good luck...and good bye!"

"But Quatermain will listen to you!" Dorian wanted to scream in protest at his near groveling for help from this American brat. He was totally unprepared for the fierce reaction from Sawyer, the young spy vehemently grabbing a hold of Gray's jacket lapels in a death grip.

"You stinkin' son of a...," Tom snarled, his eyes blazing with wrath. "You know damn well Allan's dead!" Releasing the jacket, he pushed Gray hard, sending the immortal back a few inches.

"What are you blabbering on about?" Gray pouted, straightening his violated jacket. "That old relic is still alive and..." Before he could finish, he found himself face first in the dirt covered road, Sawyer's vicious right hook directing him there. Giving the spy a look of pure hatred, Dorian slowly got up, wiping at his face with a faded silk handkerchief. Anyone who dared strike his person with such contempt would've been severely punished, but this wasn't anyone. This was the only person who could save his soul from eternal damnation.

"Don't you ever speak of him that way again!" Tom's right fist was clenched tight, ready to strike at the aristocrat again.

"Do you feel better now?" Dorian dusted his clothes off. "Did I say something amiss?"

Still furious, Tom pointed back towards his house. "I don't expect you to pick up on the finer details," he said, mocking Gray's earlier comment, "but understand this...I want you out of my sight!"

Gray almost did a double-take when he saw the fleeting look of sadness pass through the American's eyes as he turned to leave. Quatermain couldn't be dead... How could he get back into the League otherwise? Sawyer was to use his influence over the famed hunter, and then Quatermain would quiet the obvious voices of dissent from the rest of the group. But yet, that look in Sawyer's eyes told of a painful loss.

"What happened?"

The question was asked without the usual intones of sarcasm or boredom, causing Tom to pause in surprise. "You really don't know why I hit you?"

Shaking his head, Gray held his tone in check. "When did Quatermain die?"

"As if you give a damn," the young agent growled in disgust.

"Listen, if we are to share the vicinity, I think we should get everything out in the open. Otherwise it will grow more unpleasant than it already is, not to mention damage your hands." The immortal gestured to his perfect features. "Your punch did not leave any lasting effects, but I'm sure it left some impact on your knuckles."

"I don't need your help," Tom said stubbornly.

"I detest the idea more than you..., but we have no choice." Gray tried to keep himself calm, squelching the bitter taste of hurt pride. "I was sent here to atone for my past deeds, and you and the League are the only way I can."

"I told you I'm no longer part of the League, I'm back to bein' an agent for the American government. There's nothin' more I can do." Throwing his hands up, Sawyer then ran them through his shaggy cut hair in complete frustration. "I'm not gettin' rid of you am I?" he asked wearily.

"Why don't we find somewhere respectable to dine, and discuss the past and future," Dorian suggested, feeling his stomach rumble in complaint. The need for sustenance as well as sleep infuriated the immortal deep inside. He never required them before, only indulging in food and drink to excite his moods or fit into normal society.

"You and me? Sittin' at a table and chewin' the fat?" Sawyer almost laughed out loud at the mental picture.

"Is that one of your crude, Colonial references to talking?"

"Yeah, you over stuffed snob," Tom shot back.

"Yankee Doodle," Gray jabbed, his voice dripping with nastiness.

Sawyer beamed, pushing his chest out slightly in pride. "Damn right!" he declared to the stunned aristocrat.

Groaning, Dorian rubbed at his temples. "This is going to be a night from Hell," he muttered to himself.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Dr. Jekyll paused hesitantly at Quatermain's door, collecting his thoughts for what he knew was a certainty. What he was about to discuss with the hunter would not sit well, probably causing an unwanted skirmish. Sucking in a shaky breath, he summoned the courage to tap on the ornate door, cringing slightly when he heard the bellowed greeting on the other side.

"It's Dr. Jekyll. Might I have a word with you?" the nervous man asked through the closed door.

"What are you waiting for, man," Allan called out impatiently. "Come in." He eyed the fidgety doctor entering inside his room with leeriness. Something was definitely bothering Jekyll. Placing his spectacles down on a pile of papers, he gestured for his guest to pull up a chair.

"I wanted to discuss this with you in private," Jekyll began. "It's about Tom..."

"Still have questions about my plans?"

"No, this is a different matter." Henry bobbed his head once in a display of determination. "I know Tom's welfare is your highest priority, and you'll want to do what is best for him," the handsome doctor rambled out in one breath.

"Just get to the point, Jekyll," Quatermain said with a stifled yawn, rubbing at his sleep deprived eyes. "You foresee some sort of danger?"

"I want to address Tom's reaction to your presence."

"To me?" At first the dark brows furrowed, but Allan waved the notion aside with a swipe of his hand in the air. "Is this what has your knickers in a twist?"

"Yes," Henry nodded his head emphatically, "people react differently to a shock like this..."

"A shock?" The hunter paused, looking at Henry with skepticism. Sawyer shocked to see him? "He'll be fine, Jekyll. If you don't mind, I need to worry about more pressing matters." Quatermain turned his attention back to his papers, ignoring his guest.

Dr. Jekyll blinked at the curt dismissal, his confidence waning. He heard a deep, guttural laugh in the back of his conscious, the mocking nature of it making the doctor sweat.

"_Come on, Henry," _Jekyll's split personality, Edward Hyde, teased. _"Are you that afraid of him? What about that American pup you were so concerned about? All alone, thinking the great Allan Quatermain is dead. HA! Let me show the old man some concern for the boy!"_

"Allan," Henry persisted, pushing Edward's voice deeper into his mind, "he thinks you're dead. Surely seeing you just '_appear_' would cause a negative reaction."

With an exasperated sigh, Quatermain glanced over at Jekyll. "Yes, he'll be surprised...like you all were, but he'll get over it, just like you all did. I'll talk to him..."

"Maybe one of us should talk to him first," Jekyll pointed out, "to tell him you're alive."

The hazel eyes grew hard. "I can bloody do that myself."

"I know you want to see Tom, make sure he's alright," Jekyll soothed, trying another approach. "It's been difficult, not knowing..."

"Then from where I sit, this conversation is over," Quatermain replied sharply. "You've made my case for seeing the lad...first...quite nicely."

"_Don't let him talk to us that way, Henry. Let me out, I'll persuade him."_

"No," the doctor growled to his inner voice.

"Are you still here?" Allan snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"I'll leave when I've stated my concerns," Henry replied shakily, not liking the look in the older man's eyes.

"You have, and I say they're without merit." The seasoned adventurer went back to his papers.

"And I say that Sawyer could see you, and bolt in confusion," Dr. Jekyll responded testily.

Quatermain's head shot up, his nostrils flaring at the tone in the doctor's voice. "That's preposterous!" he thundered.

Finding his courage, Jekyll stared back at his leader. "Is it?" he questioned. "He comes home, finds a dead man waiting for him? What do most people do when they've seen a ghost? They run from it, that's what."

"Sawyer won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Look at all he's been through, man! He's watched a vampire rip out the throat of a deadly thug, saw an invisible man, chased down a beast, and faced many challenges and dangers." Quatermain threw his hands up slightly in futility. "What more proof do you need?"

"You may be absolutely right," Jekyll answered, "but there's still a chance Tom may react differently. He took your death extremely hard..."

"That's why I need to see him!" The table vibrated from the fist that slammed into it. "To let him know it wasn't his fault!" Lowering his head, the hunter avoided looking at Jekyll directly in the face. Dammit, he was getting emotional again.

"All I'm asking for is a few minutes of Sawyer's time. You can see him as soon as he realizes you're alive and not some apparition. With someone possibly after him, we can't afford to have him wandering around in a daze." Henry's tone quieted as he studied Quatermain's thoughtful frown. "It'll only take a few minutes, and I know you can be a bit more patient for Tom's safety."

Grunting, Allan nodded his head in concession. "I won't speak to the lad until you do," he vowed begrudgingly. "I don't want to be chasing him all over the bloody city."

Jekyll chuckled inside at Quatermain's obvious attempt at nonchalance. It was no secret to him or the others that the gruff, standoffish, old explorer had developed a paternal attachment to the young spy. Rising from his seat, Henry smiled in parting.

"I'll not bother you further. Good night, Allan."

"Yes, good night," Quatermain returned half-heartedly.

Closing Quatermain's cabin door behind him, Dr. Jekyll puffed his chest out a little in satisfaction. He had stood up to their leader...and won.

"What's the matter, Edward?" Jekyll asked his brutish alter ego. "Got nothing to say?" Hearing only small grumbles from the far reaches of his inner being, the lanky doctor was assured of a peaceful night sleep for a change.

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Only a few streets down from his house, Sawyer brought Dorian to a quaint tavern he frequented with Huck Finn and Joe Harper. The owner and his wife, the O'Brien's were fond of the three men, their boisterous laughter and antics livening many an ordinary night. A sad smile formed as Tom realized this was the first time since Huck's death that he's darkened the doorway.

Seeing the blonde agent enter, Mrs. Aimee O'Brien rushed over and gave Tom an enveloping hug. "Lookee here, Charlie my love," she called out to her husband in her thick, Irish brogue, "my pretty lil' Tom has come to see us!" The middle aged woman wrapped an arm around Sawyer's waist, ushering the young man further inside. "It does this ol' heart good to see a sight like you walking through the doors," she continued to gush. "Is my Joey coming as well?"

The smile faded from Tom's face. "I can't rightly say, Miz Aimee," he replied softly. Had Joe avoided coming here too?

"And where have you been my dearest boy?" Aimee O'Brien demanded good-naturedly, hoping to bring back that smile she adored so much.

"Been over in Europe..."

"Europe? Charlie? Did you hear that? Our Tom's been in Europe all this time!" Aimee cried out happily. She turned her attention back to her favorite customer and pinched his cheek gently. "Missed you so."

Smiling shyly, Sawyer ducked his head a little. "Missed you and Charlie too, and no one in Europe can cook like you two can."

This brought a laugh from the greying woman. "Ah, that's my sweet Tom!"

Dorian squirmed in the background, the impulse to vomit building at every word. He most likely would have gotten sick by now, if he had anything in his stomach to bring up. "Excuse me," he fumed, digging Sawyer in the back with his cane, "we did come here to dine...did we not?"

"Oh...yeah," Tom realized, having blissfully forgotten Gray's existence for a moment. "Miz Aimee, this is someone I worked with...briefly...back in Europe. Mr. Dorian Gray."

Eyeing the aristocrat quizzically, she let out a huff of air. "Well now, he's a dandy looking sort isn't he? Can't imagine the two of you becoming friends."

"We aren't." Both Tom and Dorian said in unison.

Aimee chuckled to herself. "So I see!" Slipping her arm through Sawyer's she led him through a small doorway, and into the dinning area. "I can't imagine what's keeping my Charlie," she said absently, gesturing for Tom to sit down at a little corner table. "I'll be back in a wee bit, dearest."

The immortal stood stiffly near an opposite facing chair, waiting for the proprietress to offer him a seat as well, but the woman scurried away after arranging the table. Angrily he plopped down into his seat giving Sawyer a venomous glower. He was not accustomed to being ignored so blatantly.

"What'd I do now?" Tom grinned at the immortal. "You wanted to eat, right? This is the best place I know of."

"My digestive system can hardly wait," Dorian said dryly. He eyed the large room, decorated in soft, earthy tones, accentuated by warm lighting. The atmosphere made him yearn for the dark, posh, romantic restaurants he patronized back in London and Paris. This place was...comfortable, happy, and inviting. Scowling, Gray folded his arms across his chest. If the food was a banal as the decor, he was surely going to get indigestion!

Chuckling, Sawyer shook his head. "Stop your poutin', will you?"

"I am not pouting," Gray answered testily.

Tom shrugged. "Suit yourself." Shifting in his seat, the spy felt the small, but thick journal of Huck's that he had placed in his back pocket. He reached behind him and pulled out the item, his eyes demanding answers from the man across from him.

"Why did you take this from M?"

"At the time I was furious at Moriarty for stealing my portrait, so I took something that he prized," Dorian explained, his tone one of boredom. "If Moriarty tried to double-cross me, then I had this to barter with."

"This?" Sawyer looked down at the journal. "It's just Huck's thinkin' book."

A brown eyebrow rose, the comment biting. "Thinking book? That description is astoundingly over simplistic...even by your normal standards."

Ready to tear into the immortal for the insensitive remark, Tom calmed himself. It was actually Huck's term for the journal, but he'd take the blame for the terminology for his friend's sake. Poor Finn had been accused of being ignorant all his young life, and Sawyer wasn't going to allow the smug aristocrat to do it to him in death. True, Huck was simplistic in his ways, and sometimes it drove Tom himself crazy, but it wasn't because he was stupid, it was the fact that few had taken the time to help the impoverished youth. No one was more thoughtful or loyal than Huck Finn, and the young spy couldn't begin to express how much their friendship meant to him.

At first Gray smiled in triumph, his companion's silence telling him his remark had hit a nerve, but the look now on the blonde's face was one of sorrow, not embarrassment. Sighing, he fingered the cheesecloth napkin that held his eating utensils. He would have to force himself to play a little nice here and there if he ever hoped to get the American's help in getting back into the League.

"It turns out your friend was getting too close to the truth," Dorian offered.

"So that's why M murdered Huck," Sawyer muttered.

"No," Gray corrected, "M killed him for this journal. He knew all along who this Finn person was, and why he was there."

The American agent's eyes grew wide. "How? Huck was workin' undercover!"

Gray shrugged. "M boasted he purposely let the spy in his gang for amusement, and when that became boring, he would kill him. But somehow your fellow agent found out something even M hadn't planned on."

Tom could barely hold in the rage that overtook him at M's cold-blooded treatment of Huck. That bastard knew all along? Huck had walked straight into a death sentence! Placing the journal back into his pocket, Sawyer held his fury in check. With Gray sleeping under his roof, the young man knew he'd get no rest, allowing for the perfect opportunity to read the last entries in the book.

Aimee O'Brien whisked back into the dining area, her face beaming. "Sorry dearest, had other customers to attend to," she explained to Tom, placing a menu down in front of Gray. "Turns out Charlie is in back, making up a batch of your favorite...crawdad gumbo." Hearing the immortal snort in disgust, the greying brunette jerked her thumb in Dorian's direction. "I figured '_this one_' wouldn't appreciate a delicacy like that."

"Your concern is touching," Gray said sourly, opening the menu.

"I haven't had that ages," Sawyer smiled at the woman, his stomach reminding him how long it had been since he last ate. "It sure would go down fine tonight, Miz Aimee. Thank you."

The lady winked and playfully cupped Tom's chin in her hand. "Anything to see that smile." Turning to face Gray, the happy demeanor faded. She didn't like this one for some reason. "I'll be back in a few minutes to get your order, Mr. Gray. You will be ready then, won't you?"

Seeing the aristocrat's shackles rise, Sawyer hurried to stop the nasty remark that was sure to escape the man's curled lips. "Thank you, Miz Aimee, I'll help him find somethin'," the spy said cheerfully, kicking Dorian lightly under the table to remain silent. "Don't want to keep your other customers waitin' on account of us."

Mrs. O'Brien left the two men alone, rushing into the bar area to greet the customers slowly filing in from their various places of work to enjoy a quick drink before heading home. Gray returned to his perusal of the menu, his face a mask of displeasure. Had he sunk this low? Being forced to mingle with the common folk? He had visited pubs back in London, but only to find victims for his cruel entertainments.

Yes, his victims. An involuntary shiver left the immortal's body as he recalled how he was forced in the pits of Hell to endure the pain and shame his victims felt at his hands. Some of his former victims were in Hell themselves, inflicting the punishment they suffered upon him.

"Somethin' wrong?" Sawyer asked, watching Dorian's face turn ashen.

Gray's brow furrowed at the question. "Never mind," he chose to snap, going back to the menu. "What is this crawdad gumbo concoction that female alluded to?"

"It's really good. A bit on the spicy side."

"And what in heaven's name is a...crawdad?"

Sawyer grinned. "They're like baby lobsters."

Lobsters? Dorian's agitated countenance softened a bit. He did enjoy lobster. Besides, nothing else on the menu looked consumable. "I'll try this dish you're so fond of," he relented dramatically. "At least I can't die of food poisoning."

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Soaring above the quiet countryside, her silken, auburn hair flowing freely in the wind, Mina flew over the spot where she had discovered the strange, powder like substance. Her conversation with the elderly resident earlier in the day had proven quite fruitful, providing many possible theories on the kidnaped agents. Using her bat-like powers, she scaled up to the top of a rock formation with agility and speed, her eyes searching eagerly as she glanced down below.

The powdery material formed almost an oval shape, the grass around it totally untouched...as if an object had arrived there from above. How could something so huge have descended from the sky, and leave barely a trace? Even the area inside the powder was undamaged, with no signs of anything landing on the ground.

Mina thought back to what the elderly man had said; the agents were suddenly engulfed by a bright light, then disappeared. Only light...no mode of transportation to carry the men off. Even something styled after Nemo's automobile would have left some sort of tracks. A carriage, a group of men, a hot air balloon...all of them would have left sort of imprint.

A troubled frown came upon the full lips of the beautiful half-vampire. Bond was right; this was very well something more sinister.


	9. chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Dorian dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin, surprised at how well the evening had progressed. He and Sawyer still disliked each other, but at least they were able to lay the cards on the table so to speak. He glanced over inquiringly at his dining companion, who was deep in thought.

"You didn't finish your '_favorite_' dish," the immortal commented.

"Huh?" Sawyer shrugged and placed his spoon back on the table. "Reckon I wasn't all that hungry after all."

"Oh my...I hope it wasn't something I said," Dorian quipped with a wicked smirk.

The young American fixed the vain man with a cold look. Why in the world did God choose this puffed up peacock as his watchdog? His protector? Tom wanted to laugh bitterly at the thought. Dorian Gray was only protecting own his hide, and the spy held no illusions that Gray could ever come to care for another human being. But why was he stuck with him? His thoughts brightened; he may be stuck with Gray, but the immortal was just as stuck as him; the man's eternal destination was in his hands.

Frowning at the slight smile playing at Sawyer's mouth, Gray found toying with the American's emotions tiring. Anyone else would have been a quivering mass of subjectivity after the spoken mental barrage he had masterfully wielded, but not this insufferable youth. The infinite nobleman had to console himself with the conclusion that this '_boy_' was obviously not intelligent enough to realize an insult when he heard one.

"May we depart from this...establishment?" Gray asked wearily. "I have traveled extensively the past few days, and not in the manner I am accustomed to. I find myself in need of repose." He rose from the table and pointed towards the spy in a dismissive manner. "Since I am currently without funds, you will have to pay for this evening's meal."

When Sawyer remained seated, the immortal snorted in irritation. "The government does pay you doesn't it?" he asked disdainfully. "Or do you spend it all on your little guns? Surely it's not on your home or wardrobe."

"If you wanna sleep outside 'cause my place ain't good enough, that's fine by me," Sawyer said nonchalantly. "But I'd be stayin' round in one spot though. As sneaky as you are, some folk might think you're a thief or somethin'." The young man paused over his words. "Y'know, they'd be right...you are a thief!"

"Your vain attempts at revilement are tiresome," Dorian sighed impatiently. "Nothing you say will phase me in the least."

Cocking his head to the side, Tom's hazel eyes twinkled. "How about 'welcome to Hell?'" he asked with mock innocence.

His lip curling into a vicious sneer, Gray said nothing, scooping up his cane as he walked towards the front door of the restaurant. How he'd love to show that infuriating whelp a thing or two! The dashing immortal allowed a few nasty thoughts of revenge to echo in his mind, only to be rewarded with the punishing pain he had received earlier. Clutching his mid-section in an attempt to deal with the misery, Dorian hurried out of the building, deciding to wait for his '_charge'_ in the shadows, away from prying eyes. Besides, knowing the young upstart, he'd have to bask in that foolish woman's praise before leaving anyhow.

Finding a nice spot near a coupling of bushes, Gray blended into the dark night. The sound of crunching footsteps speeding towards the restaurant caught the former nobleman's attention. Surely this man wasn't so hungry to hurry to an eating establishment such as this? As his hand slid near the handle of his sword cane, Dorian watched the newcomer inch closer to the building. Something didn't bode right.

The man was stout and powerfully built, and the strides he took spoke of purpose. Gray couldn't see the man's features, but he could guess how serious they were. Would he be a threat to Sawyer? Literally shaking himself from the idea of even thinking of the young spy's welfare, he still held his weapon at the ready. He could easily imagine that mouthy pup incensing someone enough to garner a negative reaction.

"Thank you again, Miz Aimee," Tom smiled, returning the hug the woman gave him in parting as they stood at the restaurant's doorway. "That sure tasted good."

"Not so good to make you forget the burden that's obviously on your shoulders, dearest," Aimee O'Brien chided softly.

"I'm fine," Tom tried to defend.

"You barely touch your favorite meal, sitting with a gent you surely don't like, and...," she added, cupping Sawyer's chin, "with a look of pure sadness in those beautiful eyes. Just about broke my poor heart, seeing how low in spirits you are." Patting the young man's right hand, she let out a small sigh, her eyes filling with moisture. "I know it's been more'n hard on you...losing sweet Huckleberry, and missing him so."

"Felt like half of me died that day," Tom found himself admitting.

Aimee touched near Sawyer's heart. "But he'll always live in there."

"And here." Sawyer pulled out the journal Huck kept, showing it to the woman.

"Sweet Huckleberry's thinking book!" Aimee cried out, a tear escaping down the side of her face. "I remember that dear boy always scribbling away. Ah, it's right for you to be having it."

"Mr. Sawyer!"

The young man dropped the journal in shock as he looked into the stern countenance of his supervisor, Patrick Malloy, who had appeared out of nowhere. Quickly picking up the diary, Tom tried to push it back into his rear pocket, praying his boss hadn't overheard the conversation, but an iron grip encircled his wrist, stopping the spy from moving it behind him.

"Sir..., I can explain..." Any further comment was hushed as the larger built man drug the younger spy outside, increasing the pressure on the entrapped wrist. Dorian watched the man's tempestuous movements, and began to emerge from the shadows when he heard a female voice bellow after the pair.

"Who do you think you are?" Mrs. O'Brien cried out angrily. "You stop manhandling my pretty lil' Tom this instant!"

A coy smile lit lightly on Gray's lips. Maybe he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty after all. The idea of actually saving the blonde agent wasn't one he found pleasure in. Allowing his blade to rest comfortably in his hand, the immortal watched with amusement.

"Miz Aimee...it's all right," Tom called back, hoping to diffuse the situation before it got worse. Feeling the journal ripped from his grasp, he sighed in resignation. The prized possession would now belong to the Federal Government.

"This does not concern you, Mrs. O'Brien," Patrick Malloy said in a clipped tone, releasing Sawyer's wrist to only grab a hold of the young man's arm. "I don't have the time to argue. He's wanted back at the office."

"And I don't care if you're his boss or not!" The fiery Irish woman fumed. "Don't matter none if you're a good customer...you don't treat my bonny boy that way!" Storming up to the two men, she slapped Malloy's hand hard, pulling Sawyer towards her. "After all this dear one's been through, you come up here bullying..."

"Mrs. O'Brien," Malloy interrupted testily, resuming his grip on his subordinate, "your '_dear one_' has disobeyed some rules..."

"Can't blame the lad none, working for a..."

"Miz Aimee...please!" Tom begged, placing a hand on the older woman's shoulder. "I know you're only wantin' to help, and I adore you all the more for it, but it's all right." He managed a cheeky wink as his voice lowered. "I'll set everythin' straight."

With a huff, the woman relented, throwing a warning glare in Malloy's direction. "I best not be hearing of any mistreatment on my Sweet Tom!"

"Goodnight, Mrs. O'Brien," Malloy growled as he pulled Sawyer along with him.

"Thank you, Miz Aimee...don't worry none!" Tom called back with a smile, suppressing the urge to cringe from the hard grip tightening on his arm. Spying a slight movement in the bushes to his right, the blonde agent mouthed a silent 'no' to Gray, knowing it would be the perfect place for the sneaky immortal to hide. Having to explain Dorian Gray's presence would bring even more trouble down on his head.

Jerking open the door of his carriage, Malloy half-threw Sawyer inside, slamming the door shut after entering himself. He then banged on the side of the door, a sign for the driver to begin their journey. Tom felt the rig jump into action as the rhythmic sound of hoof beats was the only sound being made. Malloy sat in silence across from him, telling the agent something was seriously wrong. It was obvious Malloy had come to the restaurant to get him, and finding the journal in his possession was only adding fuel to an already raging fire. What was going on?

"Sir?" Sawyer asked quietly.

Grabbing the young man's upper arms, the supervisor of the Secret Service shook his agent once forcefully, his tone low and dangerous. "If you value your life, boy...keep silent!" he rumbled, the man's brown eyes glowing with intensity. With the ominous message delivered, Malloy sat back down, his stony exterior returning.

'_If you value your life...' _kept replaying in Sawyer's mind as they continued down the cobbled roads towards the Treasury building in absolute silence. After Huck's death, he was ordered to hand over anything of his friend's that was used during his time with M. Security reasons. He thought back to Dorian's words back at the restaurant, how M killed Huck sooner than planned because he found out something. Tom's gaze fell briefly on the book beside his boss, a sick feeling hitting the young spy down in his gut. Did Huck know he was going to be killed? In his last moments, did his best friend try to warn of M's devious plots? Was his own life in danger now because he had the journal?

Brightly glowing street lamps illuminated the Department of the Treasury building, giving it an almost surreal look as Sawyer steeled his nerves. The journal wasn't going to be easy to explain, especially if he wished to keep Dorian Gray out of it. How could he tell his superior that the man who had betrayed the League in Venice was staying with him now, professing a change of heart, even if it was a forced change.

Malloy snapped the carriage door open and grabbed a firm hold on Tom's left arm, forcing the young agent out to the sidewalk. The grip remained until both men had entered inside the building. Sawyer mutely followed his superior to his office, awaiting a verbal scourging for having Huck's daybook, and the real reason Malloy had followed him to the O'Brien's. His eyes widened in shock when Malloy left the room without uttering a word, leaving him alone. The surprise quickly turned to anxiety when the air suddenly filled with the sound of clanking metal. Tom rushed to the door and tried to work on the handles, but they wouldn't turn, no matter how he tried to manipulate the mechanisms. He then hurried over to the windows, finding them covered by thick, metal sheets when he pulled open the slatted, wood blinds.

Shaking his head slowly in confusion, Tom inched backwards towards his vacated seat. The building was in lock-down mode, used only in the most extreme cases of threat...or...

To keep someone inside from getting out.

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As the Nautilus sailed carefully under the waters of Chesapeake Bay, Quatermain's impatience grew to an uncontrollable pitch. They were in Virginia, close to Sawyer in D.C., but the urgency of their mission was overwhelming the old adventurer.

"Can't you make this bloody contraption go any faster?" the hunter barked out to Nemo.

Taking a deep, calming breath before answering, the Indian captain allowed the rude behavior to pass. They were all worried about Sawyer, and he had to admit to an increased feeling of danger for the young man as they neared their destination. With the bond shared by Quatermain and Sawyer, he could easily comprehend how the deepening tension would be vexing his comrade.

"The water is shallower here, we must proceed cautiously," the captain answered quietly.

"And what good will caution do when the boy's disappeared?" Allan thundered back without thinking.

"It would be better than having the Nautilus damaged, and not reaching him at all," Nemo countered evenly.

Allan clutched Sawyer's Winchester in his hands. "He needs me! I can sense it!"

Nemo stayed silent, unable to find the words that would bring the older man any comfort. Not that there was really anything one could say. He couldn't quell the anxiousness in his own mind, as much as he tried to be more optimistic. How could their young teammate do it? With Tom Sawyer, optimism came as normally as breathing. The captain let out a sad puff of air at the thought, praying that whatever their young friend was facing, his positive nature would help him through it.

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In an absent-minded attempt to control the rising uncertainty inside, Tom crossed his arm over his chest, gently massaging his sore upper arm where Malloy had definitely left his mark. He had never experienced his supervisor's famous temper quite this way before, and that bothered the young man more than the ominous words spoken in the carriage. Was his time with the Secret Service about to end? He knew he was in flagrant disobedience to the agency's policy, but they haven't even heard his side of the story yet. There was no harm done, he never read the journal... Still, a nagging bit of doubt planted itself deep inside him.

Why was he being treated this way? Like he was some sort of traitor. Sawyer's blood turned cold when he finally allowed the thought to fully manifest itself. No! They had to know he would never betray his country. Once he talked to Whitcomb, everything would be fine. The director of the Secret Service understood him as well as Quatermain...

Memories of the League filtered through Tom's mind, a warm feeling of belonging stealing over him. When he had crashed the little party M had planned for the team, he knew without a doubt he would become part of that group. At the time he had chalked it up to his determination to avenge Huck's murder, but by the time they had reached M's fortress, he knew they had solidified into one entity, and he was just as much a player in that as the others. If he was able to sweet talk his way out this situation, maybe he should get in touch...

Sawyer dropped his arm, lowering his head as well. No, he could never go back to the League. One of them was now gone, and in the youth's heart, nothing could ever make it right again. Looking forlornly at the metal sheets that held him captive inside the room, the young spy found comfort in the fact that he could sense Allan was watching out for him, even in death.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Skinner expertly shuffled the deck of cards before his playing companion, Dr. Jeykll, taking pleasure in the look of awe he found in the blue orbs. If the good doctor thought that was impressive, wait till he cleaned him out of every quid he possessed. At first the idea of playing cards sounded distasteful, especially since Sawyer was in danger, but the former thief couldn't stand the infuriating uncertainty, or Quatermain's moodiness any longer. How Captain Nemo took the hunter's constant grumbling was beyond anything Rodney Skinner could fathom. He had to do something to take his mind off the situation, or it would drive him mad with worry...a fact he would never admit to anyone else.

"So Doc, you ever play poker before?" Skinner asked slyly, hoping to find some angle as to how worthy an opponent Jekyll would be.

Henry shrugged his shoulders slightly, picking up the pile of cards he was dealt like they were strange objects. "I recall playing some sort of card game at a formal function once," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "I guess I'll find out if it's the same one."

His creme covered face breaking out into a broad smile, Skinner threw a couple of coins in the middle of the small table. "I promise to be gentle...," the invisible man teased.

Quatermain watched the two men, incensed at their perceived callousness towards Sawyer's predicament. Grabbing a hold of Nemo's jacket sleeve, the hunter pulled the captain into his line of vision.

"Do you see what those two buggers are up too?" Allan hissed. "Playing games while the boy's in danger!"

"Looks to me like two men trying to make a bad situation more palatable," Nemo commented. "They are choosing to do something more constructive with their time than to stew and brood...like us."

"What?" Quatermain croaked, shocked by the man's response.

"Shall we join them?"

"Are you bloody mad?" The adventurer's grip tightened on Sawyer's Winchester rifle. "How can playing a game help the lad?"

"How are you helping him now?" the Captain countered, raising his hand in a gesture to proceed forward. "We have two more hours before we can dock in a safe area, so why not lessen some of the burden? Or perhaps a slight nap? Be refreshed for any challenge that might face us."

Glancing at the captain as if he had grown another head, Quatermain let out an indignant huff of air before walking briskly into the room where Skinner and Jekyll sat. "Deal me in," he barked, as if giving an order.

"Uh sure, Mr. Q.," Skinner stammered in surprise, half expecting to be board-sided by the rifle at any minute. "We're playing a quick round of poker."

"It's nice...to be having another player," Jekyll added with a weak smile. The smile immediately vanished when the handsome doctor caught the venomous glare Allan gave him as the hunter pulled out a chair and sat.

"I would like to join as well," Nemo added, placing his chair across from Quatermain.

The leader of the League stared at the few coins scattered in the middle. "Is that all we're playing for?" Allan scowled.

Reshuffling the deck to start a new game, Skinner only grinned. "Well, since I've been a good boy here lately, my pockets have run into a bit of a dry spell. Care to loan me a few pounds?"

"No." Quatermain fumbled inside his numerous pockets, his irritation growing. "Don't think I have anything that small," he groused to no one in particular.

Nemo in the meantime had summoned a nearby servant, ordering a round of brandy for the card players. Maybe a small drink would help ease the mood.

"How's about you put in what you want, Allan, and the rest of us put in what we can?" Skinner suggested, sensing a big windfall coming his way.

Taking a quick swig of the brandy just placed in front of him, Quatermain studied his cards, still unable to justify his sitting at the table. Sawyer needed him, but Nemo was also right...he wasn't able to do anything to help the boy inside the submarine. "Why? I'm only going to win it back in the end, plus make you more of a pauper."

Unsure if the comment was truly meant as a joke, Rodney choked back the chuckle that almost escaped his vocal chords. "Fancy yourself a card player?"

"I've played cards with kings, queens, and heads of state from many different countries, to only name a few," Allan bragged. "You're not dealing with some novice."

Clearing his throat nervously, Skinner fiddled with the remainder of the deck while Jekyll scanned through his cards with a look of bemusement. With a countenance of calm indifference, Nemo analyzed the hand dealt to him. Quatermain was the only one who exhibited any confidence, allowing a smug grin to grace his mouth.

"Are you sure you still want to play?" the hunter goaded the others. "It won't bring me any pleasure taking what meager funds you have..."

"Then I suggest we don't play for money at all," Nemo proposed.

"What?" Skinner and Quatermain cried out in horror.

Rodney shook his bald head. "What are we playing for then?"

"The thrill of competition," Nemo expounded, "to have the satisfaction of knowing you're the best, while enjoying the company of the other players."

"We aren't a group of little old ladies playing bridge while sipping our tea," Allan grumbled, eager to get the game started...and ended so he could go back to his brooding. "Besides, who ever heard of playing poker without money?"

"If you were all a group of '_younger_' ladies, I do know of one form of poker played without money," Skinner chuckled. "'Stead of losing your money, you lose an article of clothing." The small grin plastered on the rogue's face grew bigger at the slight blush on Jekyll's cheeks. "Course you gents ain't got nothing I want to peek at..."

"Skinner...shut up!" Quatermain snapped, hiding the amusement in his voice.

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Cursing at the sight of his mangled fingernail, Gray frowned up at the massive building before him, wondering what could be so important inside as to have metal covered windows. Being immortal unfortunately didn't give him super strength, nor the ability to walk through matter, or even to render the metal from it's hinges with his mind. No, all he got for his efforts was a broken fingernail. Unlike the rest of him, his nails and hair didn't grow back instantly. Sawyer was going to get an earful when he finally got the whelp out!

He had understood the young agent's unspoken orders not show himself, but the silly boy couldn't possibly expect him to sit idly by while his eternal future was at stake. As mad as Sawyer's boss was, and considering he was a spy, Gray imagined the big man pulling out a gun and shooting the brat. That's what he would've done, rather than wasting a bunch of recriminations on a unregenerate excuse for a subordinate. But now this pitiful American was in his care, and instead of watching the execution with pleasure, he would have to stop it.

"Don't move!" a voice behind the immortal commanded.

Gray's lower lip jutted out in displeasure when he heard the next instructions to put up his hands and turn around slowly. As if this puny mortal could do him harm. Feeling charitable, the vain aristocrat did as he was told, giving his captor a smarmy smile. This fool would lead him inside this seemingly impenetrable fortress without any further effort on his part.

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Studying the rather eccentric room, Mina found herself growing more impressed with the astrologer's knowledge. After visits to various abduction sites around Europe, the vapiress was convinced no ordinary army or even country was behind this. The rumpled clad figure before her was one of the first to sound the alarm about flares shooting from Mars. Dr. Frederic Klein had repeatedly warned the British government that something was amiss, but was blatantly ignored. Mina chuckled inside at the thought. They were paying attention now.

Dr. Klein spread out several charts he had made, all showing the different paths the flares took as they reached Earth's atmosphere. Mina's eyes grew larger when she recognized many of the spots noted on the papers. They were the exact locations of the abductions! She knew it was all tied together, her intuition proven right again. A small sense of satisfaction filled the auburn haired woman. It was another feat she could throw back in the great white hunter's face.

Mina was jostled from her self-congratulations by the frantic movements and sounds of the small, white haired man behind her. Dr. Klein waved frantically for his guest to join him at the enormous telescope. Rushing over to him, the ageless beauty peered intently through the scope's viewing lense, seeing a bright red streak flash through the heavens.

"Did you see it? That's one of the flares!" Dr. Klein explained excitedly, resuming his watch from Mina.

"Do you have any idea of where it is headed?" Mina asked hopefully.

"It's going where the others have gone recently," the scientist answered, calculating the flare's flight on a piece of paper next to the telescope. "To America."

Her brow creasing with worry, Mina feared who the astral object was coming for. She could only pray that Sawyer would be safe until the others arrived.

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The bolts outside the Secret Service supervisor's office clanked back into position, alerting the fidgeting agent inside. Sawyer resisted the urge to look back, instead keeping his eyes focused ahead. Malloy would soon be bursting into the room, and the blonde spy knew he had to remain calm and in control if he was going to explain his way out of trouble. He'd let his superior take his fury out, then when the older agent was done, Tom would be the voice of innocence and reason. Pleased with his game plan, Sawyer relaxed his tense muscles, awaiting the arrival of his inquisitor.

The next voice Sawyer heard caused his spirits to drop. Please God, not him!

"Hello old chum," Dorian Gray called out cheerfully, under the careful gaze of Senior Agent Malloy, who held a revolver at the aristocrat's back.

"Sit down," Malloy ordered Gray, while situating himself behind his own desk.

"Why thank you," Gray replied with mock civility, throwing Tom a smug grin as he took a seat next to the younger man. "I explained to your employer that I can help clear up this little dilemma you find yourself in."

"'Specially since it's all your fault," Tom mumbled under his breath as he gave the immortal a nasty glare. Gray was going to do more than just get him suspended...the arrogant bastard was going to get him shot!

The dark haired man feigned a wounded pout. "I was only trying to make amends, returning your deceased friend's journal." Dorian shot a look between the two spies. "And I honestly can't see how you can blame me for anything. I came bearing a gift, and traveling a long way to do so."

"Just who the hell are you?" Malloy demanded.

A dark brow rose at the question. "Me? Why I met Agent Sawyer on his recent trip to England. Granted, our acquaintance was brief, but I felt compelled to finish what I obviously didn't back home."

"I ain't in the mood for any of your fancy smooth talking!" Malloy threatened. "Who the hell are you, and how did you come by that journal?"

With a smile and tip of his head, the immortal answered. "My name is Dante Locksley. I met your youthful agent here when he was searching for information about a man known as the Fantom. I did help a small bit, but due to personal reasons, I'm afraid I let him down in the end."

Eyeing the nobleman skeptically, Malloy's grip tightened on his gun. "How did you get that journal, or even know of it's existence?"

"The Fantom's men stole something from me, so I stole something from him." Dorian stated with an air of indifference. "I thought at first it was '_his_' diary, but soon discovered it had belonged to a slain agent. When Mr. Sawyer came to England's shores, I put two and two together, and surmised he knew the other man. Unfortunately I deserted your valiant comrade in the heat of battle, so I never did get to return the journal, until now."

"How much did you read of the journal?"

"Nothing."

Malloy snorted in disbelief. "Nothing? You just admitted to finding out it didn't belong to the Fantom. What kind of game are you playing? And how is Agent Sawyer involved in this?"

Before Gray could respond, Sawyer bolted up from his chair. This was getting out of hand, and the young man knew he had to end the lying now before he got in so deep there would be no hope for redemption. If there was a punishment he had to pay, it would at least be for the truth.

"Sir," Tom interrupted, "his name is Dorian Gray."

"In your report it said he perished," Malloy reminded the younger man in a stern tone. "Are you saying now that's not true?"

"Mrs. Harker stated that he died," Sawyer corrected. "I came home tonight and found him inside waitin' for me..."

Infuriated, Dorian thrusted himself in front of the blonde agent's face. He was handling everything masterfully, and would have had that insipid supervisor eating out of his hand before he was done. Did this whelp's stupidity have no bounds? "You half-witted little fool!" he snarled viciously. "I was attempting to get you out of whatever you had gotten yourself into this time!"

"I got myself into?" Tom's eyes flashed with anger, his words almost rolling out in one breath. "Listen here, ya uppity limey! I didn't even know Huck's journal was still out there until you gave it to me tonight! I was goin' to go home, relax.., but no...you had to show up from the grave, attack me, hand me Huck's thinkin' book, all the while givin' me this story about makin' atonement for past sins, and to make matters worse...make me pay for your meal after listenin' to you whine about everythin' the whole evenin'!"

"I wouldn't have cause to complain if your life and taste weren't so pathetic!" Gray shot back vehemently. "I don't even want to get started on that horrible eating establishment you forced me to go to!"

"It wasn't my nose stuck up in the air, sayin' I didn't have anythin' to eat!"

Malloy watched the two men bicker in stunned silence, but quickly recovered, his astonishment turning to irritation. This was the austere offices of the Secret Service, not some damn school yard!

"You both will be quiet and sit down!" Malloy bellowed. When the two men stopped quarreling, and retook their seats, the supervisor continued with the questioning. "How do I know you're really Dorian Gray?"

With a bored sigh, Dorian pointed to the gun. "Shoot me and find out."

"What?" Malloy cried out in disbelief. "Shoot you?" With lightening quick speed, Sawyer whipped out one of his pistols, shooting the immortal point blank in the head. Gray slumped down into his seat, his eyes open in death. Leaping from his chair in shock, Malloy was ready to disarm his agent when he saw the '_dead man_' stir, the mutilated bullet falling to the hard wood floor with an echoing thud.

"Did that bring you pleasure?" Gray asked Tom dryly.

"Immense pleasure," Tom replied through his clenched teeth, re-holstering his gun

"At least you're easy to appease," the immortal shot back tersely.

The supervisor of the Secret Service quelled his shaking limbs, the scene that just played out in front of him unbelievable. A man was fatally shot, and yet the bullet did nothing? He had read in reports that Dorian Gray was suspected of being immortal, but to see it actually manifested was more than a bit unnerving.

Gray watched Tom's superior like a cat toying with a mouse. The realization that he was indestructible was sinking into the bigger man's head, and it pleased the aristocrat that Malloy would also realize there was nothing he could do to stop him...if he so chose.

Composing himself, Malloy made eye contact with the ageless Britain. He hated showing any signs of weakness before the man, but how in hell could you stop someone who can't die? "Why are you here? Why are you seeking out Mr. Sawyer?"

Gray lazily crossed his legs and smirked. "It's part of my redemption. I have done terrible things in my past history, and in order to reverse it, I must get back into the League."

"The League?" Malloy growled in disgust. "Mr. Sawyer has no further contact with the League."

Tom jerked slightly at his superior's tone and the finality of it. If he ever had any hopes of going back, he knew at that moment what his chances were. The Secret Service wasn't like other jobs where you could just decide to quit, and if he did leave without the official seal of approval, it would be considered treason.

"So I've heard repeatedly," Gray said in a bored manner. "Still, he's my best chance at getting back in. They'll listen to him." For some odd reason, the immortal felt compelled to keep his true purpose hidden from the stranger before him. Could he really trust this man with Sawyer's safety?

"Mr. Sawyer will not be contacting the League for you." Both Sawyer and Gray turned to the newcomer who entered through a side entrance near Malloy's desk. Trevor Whitcomb's face was stony as he glanced between the two men, before sending an even more serious look in his supervisor's way. "Mr. Malloy, please finish your questioning of Mr. Gray while I take Mr. Sawyer to my office."

"But...," Malloy rose in protest.

Whitcomb's brow furrowed in displeasure. "Do you have a problem with that order, Mr. Malloy?"

"In all respect, Sir...I do," Malloy replied stiffly.

For a brief second, Tom could almost see the heated sparks that generated between his superiors. The young spy couldn't recall an instance where Malloy had ever questioned Whitcomb's authority before. Feeling terribly uncomfortable, he sank further down into his chair, praying the whole episode would blow over and be done.

"May I suggest we interrogate them...together?" Malloy added without much submission in his demeanor.

"No. They obviously antagonize each other. It would be better suited to interview them separately." Whitcomb turned and motioned for the blonde spy to follow him. "Come with me, Mr. Sawyer." Tom began to rise from the chair, but Malloy's clipped voice stopped him cold.

"Sir, I'll further interrogate Mr. Sawyer."

Swiveling around to face his subordinate, Whitcomb tried to keep his tone calm, but firm. "Mr. Malloy, this is not the time or place for a discussion..."

An amused smile hinting at his mouth, Dorian observed the tense scene unfolding before him. "Oh my," he whispered, tilting his head in Tom's direction. The American only glowered in response.

Malloy wasn't going to back down. Squaring his broad shoulders back, he came around his desk and stood directly in front of his superior. "In light of recent events, I'm afraid you lack the objectivity, where Mr. Sawyer is concerned, to fully pursue all angles..."

"Are you teacher's pet?" Gray asked Sawyer with a wicked grin. The comment caused Malloy's focus to fall upon the agent, and Tom swallowed hard under the blistering gaze. If looks could kill, he'd be as good as dead right then.

"What?" The thinly veiled restraint tore in an instant as Whitcomb glared at his challenger. Malloy had never dared speak so disrespectfully to him before! True, he did respect his supervisor's ability and judgement, but still, to blatantly take exception to his orders, in front of an underling no less, was intolerable!

"I would like to finish my questioning with Mr. Sawyer," Malloy rephrased.

"Don't you like talking to me anymore?" Dorian asked in mock hurt.

Whitcomb pointed to the side door he had just came from, silently commanding his subordinate to follow him back through. This 'discussion' was going no further in front of Agent Sawyer. As the door slammed shut, both Tom and Dorian heard the faint rise of voices on the other side.

Running his hands through his hair in defeat, Tom rose from his seat, pacing around the immediate area in an instinctive need to be doing something. What was happening? Things were getting worse by the second! It was an insane nightmare, but unfortunately one he couldn't make himself wake up from. His anxious gaze fell upon the totally composed immortal, and Sawyer felt a stinging anger at Gray's indifference. How could he sit there and act like nothing was going on? A soft, sarcastic laugh escaped through the young spy's lips. They could shoot Gray full of holes, even hang him, but he'd survive. A sobering thought hit Tom as he glared at Dorian's smug features.

Gray would indeed survive, but he wouldn't.

At that moment Tom felt Quatermain's death more heavily than before, the loss and senselessness of the hunter's passing adding to the misery and loneliness coursing deep through him. Everything in his life was in chaos, and it was all his fault. He never should have left America's shores, instead allowing another agent to handle the Fantom...and the League. All avenging Huck's death did was destroy another good man. Resting his forehead against a nearby built-in bookcase, the blonde youth sighed heavily as his hands clutched onto the elegantly carved side moldings, every inch of his being screaming to just give up and quit caring. It wasn't worth it anymore...

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Quatermain stared in disbelief as Jekyll pulled in the booty of the third game of poker he had won. There was more than just mere 'beginner's luck' going on here! The adventurer was ready to accuse Edward Hyde of actually playing, but stopped short when he felt a troubling sense of urgency. Bolting from his chair, the others watched the older man leave their presence, wondering what could have caused such a reaction.

"Maybe he's a bit of a spoilsport?" Skinner threw out, using the hunter's actions to mask his own sore spot over losing.

The thrill of victory suddenly left Dr. Jekyll as he looked out at Quatermain's retreating back. "I wouldn't think he'd be that upset over losing a small bit of money..."

"No," Nemo shook his head somberly, "there is something else, something deeper that we have no knowledge of."

Skinner and Jekyll exchanged confused looks at the Captain's cryptic words. Was this all tied in with Sawyer?

Racing up the conning tower, Quatermain welcomed the cool breeze that filtered in off the river, the smell of land hitting his heightened senses. Off in the distance he could see sparse pinpoints of light dotted about the Virginia coast, telling the adventurer they were only an hour or less away from shore. Looking north-east, Allan again felt the powerful urge that his young protegee needed him.

"Hang on lad, I'm almost there," Quatermain spoke quietly into the night.


	11. chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Gray watched Sawyer with great curiosity as the young spy just stood there dejectedly by the bookcase. Dejected? The immortal paused at the word he came up with. That feisty, irrepressible, annoyingly optimistic, American brat was dejected? Probably fretting over what was going to happen to him. Dorian smiled at the thought, before a low grade pain began to hit his insides. Groaning, he glanced heavenwards, his teeth clenched together in agitation and distress.

Throwing a venomous glare to Sawyer's back, the immortal gave in to the insistent demand of his body, and began to speak to the youth. "Listen, Sawyer, I won't let them do anything to you, so stop all this depressing posturing and sit down." The tone was far from friendly, but dammit, he at least said it.

When Tom didn't respond to the less than heartfelt remark, Dorian tried another approach. "They'll realize soon that you never read the diary. I can prove almost to the minute my movements since coming to America, and between the small amount of brain power they have, even they'll find you had no time to look at it properly. There's nothing to worry about." The pain started to dissipate, and the vain man sighed quietly in relief.

Tom looked back at Gray, his anger rising. It was easy for him to take all this in stride! Wasn't his world falling down around him. A stinging retort formed in his mind, but the young spy dropped the thought. Who was he kidding? If it hadn't been for his stubbornness, he wouldn't be having to worry about Dorian Gray or his own future right now.

Silence? He was sure Sawyer was going to fire back, the hazel eyes showing that fact sure enough, but the spark suddenly died. Growing irritated, Dorian let out a huff of air in disgust. What did the whelp want? An apology? No, never that!

Hearing his superiors still arguing behind the closed side door, Tom felt ready to explode inside. The past several months of whirlwind emotions boiled to the brim, threatening to take the young man down a path of despair and hopelessness. All he could see right then was the people he had let down over the years.

"_And the boy becomes a man...perhaps a leader of men."_

Sawyer could almost feel Quatermain's presence as he remembered the words spoken to him by the hunter aboard the Nautilus. All had given up hope, but not him... The fate of the world rested on their shoulders, a much more daunting task than avenging his friend's murder. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, the young spy turned to Dorian Gray...his only choice at the moment. Maybe it was time he acted like a man, and faced up to the truth.

"When Huck died, all I could think about was destroyin' the man who took my best friend," Tom began quietly. "Even went above my superior's heads, and got the President himself to let me travel to London."

"You're very...persistent," Gray blurted out, groaning inside. The boy wasn't going to confess all to him was he? The little twit ought to know he didn't give the slightest care what he felt or what had happened. "Sit down and relax before all this heavy thinking hurts you."

The American spy didn't hear the biting insult, his mind lost on the 'what could have been' if he had taken another path. "They were right, y'know...I was too close to the case. I never should have left Washington. Allan would still be alive, and I sure as hell wouldn't be in the mess I'm in now."

Dorian threw his right hand up in the air in a dramatic fashion. "You foiled the Fatom's evil plots...saved the world...and all that other blather."

"Any other agent could've done that," Tom replied flatly.

"True," Gray nodded in agreement. "Any other agent would've handled himself with more caution, intelligence and tact, but I doubt if Quatermain would have allowed him in."

At first Sawyer mentally jumped at the mention of his late mentor's name as if he had been struck, but when the immortal's other comments sank in, the feeling was soon erased. "What the hell was all that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"Come come, Mr. Sawyer," Dorian teased. "What '_normal_' agent would have crashed a delightful, murderous party at my home with only himself and that rifle, then be so brass as to invite himself into the League? Would that same agent think to drive Nemo's automobile like an insane fool through Venice? Especially never having been inside it before? Certainly a rational agent wouldn't try to talk the other League members into thinking that they had a chance of stopping the Fantom after the nasty surprises thrown at them, and the overwhelming odds."

A tiny grin tugged at Tom's mouth. "Are you tryin' to pay me a compliment?"

"Absolutely not!" Gray hissed without his usual venom. "I'm calling you an imbecile, and it's that 'quaint' quality that endeared you to Quatermain. It's beyond the human capacity of the brain, but stupidity must run in the family." Casting a sideways glance at the youthful agent, the aristocrat continued. "From whatever cloud Mr. Quatermain has hunted down and shot full of holes in the great beyond, he certainly wouldn't be pleased to see his precious American acting like an average human being, especially after he purposely sacrificed all to keep you on Earth to annoy the rest of us."

Sawyer's smile widened a little, a word beginning to form on this lips.

"No!" Dorian hurried to interject. "Do not say that word! I have done nothing to garner your gratitude..., and I refuse to wallow in your conceived notions of comradery!"

"I'm willin' to let it go at that," Tom half chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. It was not the most appealing pep talk he had ever received, but considering the source, he knew it took a lot for the immortal to say what he did...no matter how contentious it sounded.

The door to the side room opened suddenly, and Sawyer glanced anxiously upon his supervisors' faces. Neither man looked happy, but their collective gaze fixed on the immortal. Taking a step forward, Whitcomb motioned for Gray to rise. Tom sighed gratefully when the nobleman obeyed.

"Mr. Gray, would you please follow my associate to a separate room?" Trevor Whitcomb asked politely. "I would like to interrogate Mr. Sawyer alone, and hopefully clear this situation to everyone's satisfaction." Seeing the subtle look of suspicion cross the handsome man's face, the director gave a small smile of reassurance. "We don't think any real harm has been done here tonight, but I want to make sure that my subordinate understands the consequences his actions almost caused. And we will be discussing security issues as well. You can surely understand why you can't be present for that."

Picking daintily at his broken fingernail, Dorian frowned. "I'll accommodate your wishes for the moment," he said in a bored tone, "but I will say right now that Agent Sawyer is without blame...surprising as it may sound."

Malloy walked over to Gray, his eyes hard and unyielding. "If you'll follow me," he said, making a quick gesture towards the door he and Whitcomb had just came from.

"Do I get a full tour?" Gray jabbed, enjoying the venomous glare the burly agent was giving him. The nobleman was led into another chamber that resembled a small hotel room, which had a bed, a table with two chairs, and even a chaise lounge, but most noticeably, no windows. Dorian's eyes widened in alarm at the sight, receiving a hard shove in the square of his back that sent him tumbling further inside. Before he could fully right himself, the door slammed shut, the sound of metal hitting his ears.

Damn it all! He let himself be tricked! Throwing his cane down on the mattress, the immortal angrily flung his body onto the chaise in the corner of the tiny compartment, repeatedly recriminating himself over his carelessness. Surely they were intimidated by the fact they couldn't harm him... Dorian smashed his hand into a nearby wall in frustration. Who was he kidding? Maybe they couldn't do anything to kill him, but they sure as hell could hold him in this obvious prison.

How could he protect the hellion now? Or more importantly...his eternal future?

Seeing that Malloy had returned so quickly, Sawyer looked up at Whitcomb questioningly. "Where's Mr. Gray?"

"He's secured for now," Malloy half growled, re-taking his seat behind the desk. "You don't need to be worrying about him."

Again Sawyer looked towards his director. "How long are you gonna detain him?"

"That is none of your concern, Agent Sawyer," Malloy snapped, pointing an index finger in the young spy's direction. "You were told to stay in your quarters...were you not?"

"Yes, but..."

"Why didn't you come to us immediately with that journal? Or tell us Gray was at your home?"

"I had just found out myself," Tom tried to explain. "Everythin' happened so fast..."

"Did you even consider that you could have placed your country in jeopardy if you had lost that journal?" Watching the realization dawning on Sawyer's winsome features, Malloy went in for the kill. "Where did you go? You went to a damn tavern! After Mr. Whitcomb specifically asked you not to!"

"That's enough, Patrick," Whitcomb interrupted in a calmer tone. "Let Agent Sawyer tell us exactly what was going through his mind."

"Thank you, Sir," Tom replied appreciatively to Whitcomb. Taking a deep breath, the young agent began the tale of his unwanted reunion with Dorian Gray.

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Jekyll was glad to finally be on America's shores, signaling the mission to get Tom back was almost at an end. The urgency and uncertainty of their voyage was almost more than his jittery nerves could take. He glanced over at Quatermain, watching the hunter organize Sawyer's return right down to the last detail. They were to hire a cab and driver, arrive in Washington D.C. without much fanfare, and head straight to the address the spy had given Nemo to contact him at. Allan had even told Washington a later arrival date, so they could see Tom before meeting with the President of the United States.

A red streak soaring across the night sky caught the doctor's attention. "Look," he called out to his companions, "is that a shooting star?"

Allan's eyes looked on in dismay as the red streak grew larger as it neared the Earth. "That's no shooting star!" He turned to his right, grabbing a hold of Nemo's shoulder. "Get out that metal contraption of yours! We have to get to Washington...NOW!"

Nemo nodded in reply, rushing towards the main hold of the Nautilus. In the months since Sawyer's return to America, the captain had his automobile rebuilt, hoping one day to surprise the youth with another chance to take a proper cruise in it.

"Won't that make a rather splashy entrance?" Skinner asked in confusion, not understanding the sudden urgency of the situation. "Thought you didn't want the Yanks knowing we're in town yet."

"We need the speed," Allan hurried to explain, watching the gangplank anxiously for Nemo's car. "Just pray we're not too late!"

"Dear god," Jekyll muttered, "the flares."

"Bloody hell!" Rodney felt the knot in his stomach sink further down at Dr. Jekyll's words. "What's taking Nemo so long?" he cried out, recalling the dramatic entrance Sawyer had made with the car back in Venice. If Tom was driving, they'd be half way there by now. The invisible man paused at the thought, hating the feeling that washed over him. Would he ever see his young American friend again? Staring intensely at the gangplank, Skinner kept his mind from further contemplating that notion. They had to reach Sawyer in time!

"I'm about ready to drive the blasted thing myself!" Quatermain groused, his hunter instincts on overdrive. They were miles outside of Washington D.C., and there was still the matter of finding Sawyer's address. At least one thing was in their favor...at this time of night, the boy would be in bed, not wandering the streets where an abduction could easily take place.

The familiar roar of the car's engine alerted the others of Nemo's impending arrival. The three men hurried over to the vehicle, and Quatermain jumped in front, with Skinner and Jekyll piling in back. Pulling out the various maps he had of the immediate area, Allan pointed in the direction Nemo was to go.

"Can't you make this thing go faster?" the hunter asked impatiently.

"Unlike young Sawyer, I cannot control my creation at high speed," Nemo answered sadly. "I am also in unfamiliar territory. I will do my best, that is all I can offer."

"I-I know, Nemo," Allan admitted, settling back into the seat. The passengers fell into an uneasy silence as the automobile swiftly traveled down the cobbled and bricked streets towards Washington, each man afraid to admit the dread they felt at each passing minute. Was that one of those mysterious flares? And if it was...where was it headed?

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Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Sawyer exited the Department of the Treasury building. He glanced briefly at his pocket watch, determining that he had been inside for almost eight hours. It had been the longest eight hours of his life,but it was over now. Gray wouldn't be following him home either, and Tom felt a pang of guilt over leaving the immortal behind. He had deliberately left out what Dorian had said of his vulnerability, and why M had killed Huck. If Whitcomb, or especially Malloy, had known this...he'd still be in there.

The carriage that brought him here was waiting at the curb, the driver standing near one of the two horses. As Tom neared, the man turned and offered a shrug. In his right hand he held the back shoe of the animal.

"Sorry, Mr. Sawyer," the driver explained, "but Clementine somehow lost her shoe...her hoof is messed up a bit too. Might take a while before I can bring you back home."

"Don't worry on it," Tom smiled in understanding. "Could use a good walk to clear my mind anyhow." He stepped in front of the agitated horse and petted her nose. "Don't worry, Clementine, it'll be alright," he said soothingly, allowing the driver to dislodged a broken nail from the animal's hoof without much trouble. Saying goodbye to the driver, the young agent began his small journey home.

In an upper story window that looked directly down on the street below, a dark figure watched the spy with interest, a wicked smile enveloping his mouth. How convenient that horse happened to throw it's shoe... The man began to laugh softly, following Sawyer's figure till he passed from view.

This was one stroll Special Agent Sawyer wasn't returning from.


	12. chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

The adventurer was out of the car before it skidded to a halt before the small house, his Webley revolver at the ready. Remembering his deal with Jekyll, he impatiently waited for the others to exit the vehicle. One of them would have to rouse Sawyer from his sleep.

Exchanging anxious looks with his fellow League members, Dr. Jekyll reached for the handle, finding it easy to turn. That didn't bode well.

"Sawyer?" the doctor called out quietly as he slowly opened the door a crack. "It's me, Henry Jekyll..." He inched further inside, taking great strides not to crash into anything due to the darkness that filled the area. "Tom? Sorry to bother you, but the others and I have just arrived..."

"_He's not here, you fool!" _Edward snarled inside the medical man's mind. _"His scent is too faint...he hasn't been here for hours."_

Henry's heart sank as he stood motionless in the middle of the living room. There just had to be a logical explanation...this all couldn't have been in vain!

Prodded by Quatermain's agitated gestures and small shoves, Skinner asked the obvious question on everyone's mind. "Well mate, is the kid awake yet?"

"He's...he's not here," Jekyll muttered.

"Are you bloody sure?" Allan demanded, crashing through the partially open doorway. From his many years of hunting at night, he was able to peer through the soft blackness throughout the home, discerning clues of the young spy's whereabouts. The colt pistols were gone, but a rifle hung above the fireplace. Quatermain found a small amount of solace in the fact Sawyer was at least armed. Inspecting the rifle more closely, the old explorer felt a lump develop in his throat as he recognized his elephant gun, Matilda. Clutching Sawyer's own Winchester rifle tightly, Quatemain hurried out of the house, with Jekyll following close behind.

"The boy's left, been gone for hours," Allan said brusquely, searching the immediate surroundings with his improved eyesight. "Nothing's missing to indicate he's on an assignment. He's also armed, so keep your ears open to the sound of gunfire."

"_I'm picking up his scent, Henry," _the behemoth Mr. Hyde said excitedly. _"It's fresher than what was in the house."_

Clearing his throat, Henry pointed south. "Hyde says he's picked up Tom's scent, heading this way. It's not real recent, but it's a start."

Quatermain crouched down, inspecting the ground in the vicinity Jekyll indicated. "Yes, he probably has gone this way tonight...but..." He straightened, a picayune thought keeping him from rushing down the path. "We'll need to split up, cover the area." Facing the others, he gave them their marching orders. Jekyll was to head in the southern direction, Nemo would take the western section, while Skinner checked out the eastern side. He was going north, straight to the Department of the Treasury. If he was a spy out at this time of night with his weapons, that's exactly where he would be...or he'd willingly shake a few important officials to find out Sawyer's location.

"Remember, men...do whatever it takes to keep Sawyer safe if you come across him," the hunter spoke firmly. "Don't hold nothing back." He looked directly at Jekyll, knowing the doctor's obvious dislike of using his alter ego, Hyde.

"Don't worry, Allan," Jekyll nodded in response, "I have a couple of bottles with me."

"Thank you, Jekyll," Quatermain acknowledged with a dip of his head. "And I'll do my best not to alarm the lad if I see him."

With a few parting glances, the foursome split up without a further word, only one goal in mind...finding Special Agent Tom Sawyer.

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With the coming of fall around the corner, the air was crisper and cooler than normal, causing Tom to wrap his black duster tighter around himself. So much had happened over the past months that the young spy had barely noticed the dog days of summer were quickly coming to an end.

Sawyer chuckled to himself. It didn't help either that he was in Europe most of the time, battling rain, fog, blistering heat, even snow. Thinking back to the frozen landscape known as Mongolia, a sad frown crossed over the handsome face. He had lost Huck to the rain soaked streets of London, and Allan to a cold barren, wasteland. Both descriptions would match perfectly with what was going on inside him right now.

A faint sound off in the distance caught the spy's attention. If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was Nemo's car. As he strained to listen, he tried to discern what direction the sound was coming from. One thing he was certain of...it was definitely a motor of some sort. The noise rapidly grew louder, and the young man's senses began to heighten in alarm. It seemed impossible, but the sounds were coming from three different directions! Something was very wrong...

As the sounds neared at a accelerated pace, the agent searched the immediate area for a hiding place. Whatever was coming towards him was cutting him off from his regular route home, and even if he tried to hurry back to the Treasury Building, or sneak down a side street, he was still out in the open.

To his left, Tom could see Lafayette Square park, it's trees and ponds offering the resourceful spy some sort of cover...or defense. Before he could run a few feet, the source of his concern came roaring into view, the metal from the machines and their drivers casting them in an ominous hue in the moonlight. Sawyer stopped for a heart pounding second. The sight of the machines both frightened and fascinated him at the same time.

They were motorized, like Nemo's automobile, but these machines resembled bicycles in their styling and size. A single headlight shone through the night like a beacon, and was followed by thirteen more, all heading straight for the young man who stood in frozen captivation.

Recovering from the initial shock of their appearance, Sawyer sprinted into action, racing towards Lafayette Square as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind him he could hear the machines converging together, close to where he stood moments ago.

"Give it up, boy!" a British accented voice bellowed over his idling motor. "You can't outrun us!"

A sneaky smile lit up Tom's face as he continued to run. He may have no hope of outrunning them, but they were on his turf...and that was all he needed. Criss-crossing his arms across his chest, the agent whipped out his twin colt.45 pistols, ready to give the pursuers some lead to chew on when he reached a good vantage point.

Bullets peppered the ground around his immediate area, but the spy pressed on. Either those men were horrible shots, or the bullets were meant more to discourage his escape. The latter thought wasn't lost on Sawyer. Whoever they were, they wanted him alive for the time being.

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Something wasn't right. Allan could sense it as he hurried down the deserted Washington streets in search of Sawyer. Why had he let his damnable pride once again get in his way? If he hadn't been sitting back in Africa feeling guilty, the boy wouldn't be facing this threat alone. The adventurer calmed himself. Pity wasn't helping him and especially not helping his protege. He had to stay focused.

A loud, rumbling sound echoed through the otherwise quiet evening, the noisy disturbance even making the ground shake under Quatermain's boots. At first he suspected Nemo's car, hoping the Indian captain had found Sawyer, and it was the boy who was now driving towards him. The hope quickly faded as the hunter realized there was more than one machine involved.

Ducking behind a nearby tree, Quatermain watched for whoever or whatever was creating such a ruckus. His eyes widened in shock when six headlights broke the darkness, slightly illuminating the area. The seasoned explorer knew the riders were men, but what in hell were they riding? Bicycles? With motors no less?

The metal hats, long capes, and handkerchief hidden faces reminded Allan of another bunch of hooligans they had run into months earlier who were in the employ of M. Could some of those bastards have eluded Scotland Yard? If they were left overs of Moriarty's evil army, they'd no doubt be wearing that damn body armor...and leaving even less doubt over who they were after.

Shouldering the Winchester, Quatermain chose to follow the metal bikes to be sure. At the incredible speed they were traveling, and the probable body armor, there'd be no assurance that he could pick them off one by one, which would also alert them to his presence. He'd be dead before he could ever reach the young spy.

Trudging up a nearby hill, the adventurer followed his prey stealthily, the thrill and urgency of the hunt giving him renewed strength and vigor. They were heading towards the Treasury Building, and that meant his hunch was right after all; Sawyer was in this direction. Able to see farther than the riders due to his higher vantage point, Quatermain scanned ahead, looking for any sign of whoever or whatever these men were after.

His heart leapt into his throat when Allan caught sight of the familiar black duster and blonde hair of it's owner, who stood immobile in the direct path of the motorized bikes. Cupping his hands around the sides of his mouth to yell a warning to the youth, Quatermain stopped, remembering Jekyll's words about possibly causing a negative reaction. That was the last thing the lad needed right now...dealing with a supposedly dead mentor. What the hell could he do? He could try shooting at the riders, but there was the added danger of the bullets ricocheting off the metal armor and hitting Sawyer instead.

The noise of the machines magnified, signaling the arrival of more henchmen. Allan released the breath he was holding when he finally saw Sawyer move from the area and towards some trees. The hunter applauded the move; trees could offer some shelter from gunfire. Twisting his hand around the barrel of the Winchester, Allan made a decision. He would have to risk the American agent seeing him, there was no other choice. With revitalized stamina, Quatermain slid down the hillside, careful to keep himself hidden from the riders and Sawyer for the time being.

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Panting hard from the exertion of running, Sawyer drove head-first behind a coupling of trees, taking a few moments to calm his breathing. Another call for surrender echoed over the roar of the engines, and the young spy answered with a few well placed shots from his revolvers. To his dismay they bounced off the intended victims' metal chest plates, and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"That the best you can do, Yank?" the obvious leader of the gang taunted. "Why don't you give up your silly American cowboy fantasy and surrender?"

Peeking past the thick tree trunk, Sawyer studied his taunter. The rest of him may be armor covered, but one spot definitely wasn't. With lighting quick speed, Tom's right hand came up, the bullet speeding out of the chamber of his gun and straight between the man's eyes.

"Score one for the cowboy!" Tom yelled defiantly to his would be abductors, squeezing off a few more direct hits from his pistols. Four down...ten more to go.

Viewing the fallen bodies of his comrades, another rider took control of the mission. "Enough of this!" he said to his nearest compatriots. "Surround the mouthy nipper and keep him bunkered down! I'll handle the rest."

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Out of breath, Quatermain tried desperately to regain his composure. Damn, he hated getting old! The riders were still unaware of his presence, their focus only on the young spy who still eluded their grasp. Finding a group of bushes on the outskirts of the park, the hunter readied the Winchester for action, and made his way towards them.

As soon as he settled himself behind the brush, Allan saw the body of the lead rider jerk back and fly off the bike, laying unmoving where he landed. With his expertise in weaponry, the adventurer was able to pick out the sound of Sawyer's pistols, and he smiled at the perfect hit. That boy definitely was a crack shot...there was no doubt of that. He counted three more bodies that fell in rapid succession before sneaking up further to where the Secret Service agent was holed up.

He had just begun his journey to reach his protege when all hell broke loose.

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The ten remaining riders suddenly swerved out in different directions, each man instantly recognizing the plan of action. They would surround their prey, leaving him no where to flee. One rider had a sole purpose, and he took his place under the guise of following the others. He wasn't totally surprised the American was choosing to fight them; pointless as it was. What caught him unaware though was the accuracy at which the boy could shoot.

Climbing off his bike, the self-appointed leader smiled as he pulled out pieces to a long range rifle from a hidden compartment. Putting the high tech weapon together, he effortlessly scaled a nearby tree, giving him a perfect view of the chaos below. This Sawyer was a scrappy one, even boxing him in wasn't working as planned. If he waited until the boy dropped from exhaustion, his whole gang may be decimated.

Adjusting the telescopic sight, the man searched for his victim. The American spy wasn't the only good shot in town.

Two riders raced up towards the trees that Sawyer was behind, each taking an opposite side. The blonde agent readied himself for their coming, briefly re-holstering his colt.45's to grab a hold of a large branch directly above him. Lifting his feet off the ground, he used his full weight to make the limb break off. Holding his new weapon in one hand, he pulled out his right pistol with his other, and cocked it back.

Let the bastards try and get him!

Bullets nicked the sides of the tree trunks, keeping him in place, but he smirked in anticipation as his pursuer's grew nearer. When they were almost upon him, Tom thrusted out the tree branch to one side, catching it in the spokes of one biker's wheel, sending the machine hurling out of control. Immediately the agent turned his attention to the other man, shooting him point blank in the forehead. With that threat gone, Sawyer returned to the other biker who lay moaning in agony under his mechanical contraption. One well placed bullet ended the man's suffering.

Six down...eight more to go.

For a brief second, Tom glanced down at the mechanical bike, aching to reach out and see what made something like this work. The sounds of other riders approaching took care of any ideas of exploration...for now. He would have to find another location to combat the next wave of thugs.

Reloading his near empty revolvers, Sawyer started to jog away from the trees when a loud, lone shot echoed in the night.

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Cursing under his breath, Quatermain hurried after the chasing bikers, flabbergasted as to why Sawyer wasn't running. They were flanking him on either side...the lad couldn't shoot both of them at once, having to duck around two, humongous tree trunks. The pensive frown deepened. That boy better not be thinking of standing them down like some damn gunfighter from the Old West!

As much as he hated throwing Sawyer a nasty emotional curve by revealing his presence, the hunter couldn't stand by and watch his American friend be hurt. Allan readied his rifle, getting one of the men in his sights. Maybe he couldn't kill them because of the body armor, but he sure as hell could slow them down some.

Squeezing back on the trigger, Quatermain had his target dead to rights, until a long object suddenly appeared from behind one of the tree trunks and snagged the front tire of the bike. The bike shook violently and flipped over, crashing on top of it's rider. The other rider flew off his bike seconds after the first, his fate met by one of Sawyer's revolvers.

Lowering his gun, the adventurer had to smile. That boy never ceases to amaze him. Another shot told Allan the other rider was dead as well, leaving eight more men to handle. Sprinting forward, Quatermain drew closer to his goal, but a single gunshot blast shattered his hopes for a reunion with the young man he had come to view almost like a son.

NO! It was happening all over again...just like back in Africa...he had failed Sawyer like he had failed Harry all those years ago!

He was too late...


	13. chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Henry followed Hyde's directions straight to the O'Brien's tavern. It had obviously closed hours ago, but the attractive doctor felt compelled to knock persistently on a side door that seemed to be connected to more a residential part of the building.

"Who be there?" a male, Irish brogue demanded on the other side.

"I hate to bother you, Sir," Jekyll said in an apologetic tone, "but I'm searching for my friend, Tom Sawyer..."

The door opened a crack, and a sturdy, middle aged man poked his head out warily. Charlie O'Brien appraised the stranger before him. Aimee had told him earlier of the snobbish Brit who was with their friend many hours ago. This one looked to be from a higher class of English society, but the tavern owner could see a kindness in the impassioned blue eyes. He could believe Tom being friends with him.

"How do you know of Tom?" Charlie asked, still holding the door in a protective stance.

"I'm Dr. Henry Jekyll, and I worked with Tom when he was in Europe," the doctor explained, pulling out a photo from his jacket's inner pocket. It was a picture the League had taken together before Sawyer left their company. He thought it would help in the search for the young spy.

Taking the photograph, Charlie smiled in recognition. "That's our Tom all right," he answered, his stiff pose softening a bit. He jerked his head towards the inside of his home, and allowed the doctor to follow him in. Lighting several lamps, the small, cozy room became enveloped in a warm brightness that made Henry feel instantly welcome.

Aimee O'Brien hurried out of the couple's bedroom, her clothes in disarray from having dressed so quickly. The mention of her 'Tom' woke the woman from her fitful slumber. She had been worrying over the young man all night since he was drug away so roughly by his boss. Stepping up to the stranger, she stared hard as if trying to see through him.

"Uhm, hello, Ma'am," Henry said politely, looking to Charlie for some help.

Mr. O'Brien shrugged. "My Aimee makes up her own mind."

"And you are?" Mrs. O'Brien demanded, still studying the man intently.

"I'm Dr. Henry Jekyll," he replied with a charming smile. "I'm a friend of Tom's."

"Take a look at this, Luv," Charlie interrupted, giving his wife the picture.

Seeing the blonde agent looking at ease among the odd group in the black and white photograph, Aimee eased her suspicion, giving the newcomer a pleading look as she handed the picture back. "Is my dear boy all right? He's not in too much trouble is he?"

Alarmed by the words, Henry glanced anxiously between the two. "That's what I'm hoping to find out," he explained quietly. "He's not at home, and at this time of night, we can't imagine where he's at."

"We?" Charlie asked while giving his wife a comforting hug.

"Myself and some of the others in the photograph."

"I knew it! I knew it!" Aimee cried out, burying her face in her husband's chest. "The minute I saw that high and mighty Mr. Gray with my Tom...I knew there'd be trouble! I could tell my boy didn't like being with him..."

Gray? Jekyll could feel a tightness in his chest growing. That back-stabbing bastard couldn't be alive! Mina had seen him disintegrate before her eyes, and then she destroyed the painting to make sure he could never come back. "What did this Mr. Gray look like?" Aimee went into vivid detail, leaving the medical man no doubt. Dorian Gray somehow cheated death, and now Tom was missing?

"Did they leave together?"

"No," Aimee shook her head. "I was talking to my sweet Tom when his boss comes up like Satan himself...!"

"His boss?"

"The one who ain't so friendly, Patrick Malloy. Shame too, being from good Irish stock. The other boss, Mr. Whitcomb,...well...he treats my dear boy like gold, that one does. He'd never mishandle my Tom." Mrs. O'Brien wagged her finger in the air, her ire rising to almost a fever pitch. "I told that Malloy that he better not harm a hair on that precious boy's head...or he'll have me to answer to!"

"This Malloy left with Tom?"

"More like '_pulled' _the poor soul," Aimee recalled with a worried frown. "Said some nonsense about my boy breaking some rules, and tore dear Huckleberry's journal right out of sweet Tom's hands. Ain't right!"

Henry's mind raced as he tried to digest all he had just heard. He had to get to Allan at once, and tell him about Gray's return from the dead. Turning to the couple, he offered a weak smile. "I hate to dash off like this, but I must find the others and rely this information. You have been truly helpful, and either I or Tom himself will be in contact as soon as possible."

Grasping the doctor's thin hand, Aimee O'Brien's eyes filled with moisture. "You will look after my Tom won't you? I can't get this awful feeling he's in danger out of my heart."

Unable to answer the woman for fear of revealing too much, Jekyll squeezed her hand gently in his, and tipped his head in parting. He could only pray they weren't too late.

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Skinner cursed under his breath as he walked down the silent streets in search of his American friend. If he did find Sawyer, he was determined to give the young man a piece of his mind for being out in the middle of the night...worrying his mates something awful.

Who was he kidding? Hell, if he did see the lil' nipper, he'd be so relieved and happy that he couldn't begin to utter a cross word. The invisible thief grinned. There'd be no living with Tom after the spoiling he was going to get from everyone.

Stubbing his toe on a large stone, Rodney played with the idea of kicking it across the way when he saw the rock begin to jump around from the vibrations overtaking the ground. Was Nemo headed this way? It sure rumbled and roared like his car.

Hope began to course through the invisible rogue's body as he raced towards the sound. Whatever it was, it was coming fast, and he only knew of one person who would drive that recklessly. Peering excitedly into the night, Skinner expected to see the blonde mop of hair blowing wildly in the front seat of the automobile.

He was not prepared for the five, metallic dressed men on their metal bicycles. How could they peddle so fast and so noisily? Looking closely as he could at the contraptions as they speed past him, Skinner realized they were motorized.

The riders were a nasty looking bunch too, reminding the former thief of demons rising from the pits of Hell. The garb they wore was similar to the ones M's cronies had. Skinner's nerves tingled in alarm...

Forgetting his sore toe, Rodney hurried after the bikes as fast as he could. There was only one person that they'd be after.

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Nemo scoured the immediate area thoroughly, but found no trace of anyone having been through recently. Sighing sadly, the India native wondered how Quatermain was faring. The hunter was a cluster of raw nerves and energy when they landed upon the Virginia shore, and that strange, red flare only added to the agonizing uncertainty.

If they were too late...

The captain forced the negative thought from his head. He had to stay positive for Sawyer' sake. They would not give up until their youngest member was safe from whatever sinister plot was befalling his fellow agents.

Off in the distance the Captain heard a familiar sound. His automobile? But who could be driving it? A smile lit on the tanned face. Other than himself, there was only one who could handle the magnificent creation, and from the noise the engine was making, it was coming at a high speed. Perhaps young Sawyer had returned home, saw the car and was now looking for his former teammates. Nemo placed his hands behind himself, expectantly waiting for the spy to come careening into view.

As the engine noise grew closer, the wise Indian knew it was no longer his amazing automobile. It was now multiple sounds, and when the cause of the commotion appeared through the dark, inky night like ghastly avengers, Nemo could only stare in disbelief and awe.

He had heard of an invention such as the ones traveling so rapidly off to his far left. They were called motorcycles, but the ones before him were far superior to the awkward prototype he had seen over ten years ago.

Studying the men upon the machines, Nemo frowned in concern. They were dressed in black clothing from head to toe that hid their identities, and their long capes flowed behind them like they were wings flapping in the air. The similarity to M's evil army was unnerving. Who would be out at this time of night wearing such sinister clothing? What could they be after? A fearful thought hit the Captain as he vainly chased after the motorcycles.

Or who were they after...?

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A single shot had rung out, sending Sawyer's feet out from under him. Quatermain watched in horror as the young American's body lurched as if impacted by some force before crashing backwards to the ground.

NO! It was happening all over again! But instead of a tiger springing from a bush, mauling the body of his only child, it was a low life bastard who hid up in a tree now ambushing his protege. One thing that did remain constant was his failure to stop either of the attacks.

Clenching his teeth together in a raging grief, the expert hunter swivelled the Winchester towards where the bullet came from. A cry, followed by a heavy thud, told Allan he had hit his mark, but the justice he dealt out was a hollow victory. His eyes immediately fell upon the unmoving figure of Sawyer, his chest swelling with loss and guilt.

'_Get up, lad...move...do something, please' _Quatermain begged in his mind._ 'Show me you're still alive...' _The remaining bikers began to converge around the lifeless body, continuing their quest for the American spy.

"You damn bloody vultures!" Allan yelled in disgust, shooting at the oncoming bikers in succession. Still slightly behind the henchmen, he didn't have a clear shot at their faces, but he managed to unseat a few of them from their machines by hitting the thin tires.

Several of the thugs began to return fire at the adventurer, forcing Quatermain to seek shelter by the same trees Sawyer had used just moments ago. Peeking out behind one of the trunks, Allan watched in frustration as a couple of the bikers inched their way towards the downed spy. The constant hail of bullets kept the older man from being able to shoot clearly, but he had to try. He couldn't let them take the boy, and there was still a chance Sawyer was alive. That one ray of hope surged through the explorer's body, giving him added strength to keep the Winchester steady as bullet_s _hammered against the barrel as it out stuck out past the trunk.

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He had been running... That part he could remember.

A searing pain tearing through the meaty part of his right thigh...he not only remembered the impact, he could still feel the burning torment as blood began to pool underneath him.

It was hard to breathe, but why? Had he fallen so hard that he knocked the wind out of him?

Sawyer could hear the sound of a gun battle rage around him as he floated in and out of consciousness. A gun battle? He was out of the fight for the moment...so who were his attackers firing at now? The distinct crack of a Winchester hit the young man's ears. Someone was shooting at the bikers?

The ground began to tremble under his prone body, signaling the arrival of at least two of his attackers. Tom kept motionless even when he felt the harsh grip upon his upper arm that was trying to pull his body up. Suppressing a cry of pain from his wound being disturbed, Sawyer continued to fake unconsciousness while keeping a tight grip on his guns.

Cursing under his breath, the triumphant biker fought to lift the dead weight of his prey, wrapping an arm around the agent's mid-section to better place him upon the motorcycle. His limp captive suddenly became animated, placing a bullet between his unsuspecting eyes.

Tom leapt free from his abductor's grasp before he became tangled with the dead man and his bike, but it took all his will power to keep himself standing long enough to kill the other potential kidnapper as his leg screamed in agony from the action. Recovering with a grimace, the young spy glanced behind him, and counted four more bikers left, minus their machines.

Again he heard the bark of the Winchester, but whoever was assisting him was pinned. Raising both his colt.45's simultaneously, Tom aimed at two of the henchmen, but before he could get a clean shot, a hand reached out from beside him, grabbing a hold of the blonde agent's ankle and pulling his good leg behind him.

Forced to stand solely on his injured leg, Sawyer cried out in pain and surprise as he crumbled to the ground. His foe then wrapped an arm around his neck, applying a chocking pressure, but Tom fought the urge to struggle, focusing instead on lifting his guns towards his captor. A cold, steel barrel pressed against his temple stopped the motion.

"Drop the guns, Cowboy Yank, and get up," the man demanded between gasps of air. The old gunman had only stunned him when the bullet ricocheted off the tip of his helmet, but the fall from the tree had done some serious internal damage. Fighting to stay erect as his captive rose from the ground with great difficulty, the sniper knew he didn't have much time left, but he wasn't leaving without his American prize. A mere boy wasn't getting the better of him! Smiling as he heard the dull clunk of the revolvers hitting the dirt, the lead biker released the choke hold and wrapped his arm around Sawyer's middle, trapping the spy's arms against his sides.

"Why should I feel threatened by you?" Sawyer asked calmly, quelling his trembling body that was threatening to fail him. "Aren't you supposed to take me in alive? You can't shoot me."

"Whuh?" the man cried out before he felt Tom's body slam fiercely into him, sending them both backwards. Instantly the grip released, and the American agent rolled himself away from his abductor, who was wheezing desperately for air.

Watching the man take his last breaths before succumbing to his injuries, Sawyer almost felt sorry for the guy. He knew the man had to be badly hurt by the way he struggled for air, and how the body leaned into his as if using him for a crutch. Whitcomb had told him over and over in his training to use your enemy's weakness to your advantage. Tonight he was never more grateful for that advice.

Slowly trying to pull himself up off the ground, Tom groaned in pain as his leg refused to help support any of his weight. Managing to get on his hands and knees, the young man panted from the effort, his arms beginning shake slightly under him. There was still a threat left to be dealt with as well as the mysterious shooter who had come to his aid. If it wasn't for him, Sawyer knew he'd be in the bikers' clutches right now.

Who on earth was this stranger, and why would he risk his life for him? Sawyer lifted his blonde head, trying to get a better look at the man hidden by the large trees. The hazel eyes grew wide in astonishment as the man's Winchester poked out from behind one of the trunks, shooting a running henchmen in the face.

He knew that gun...it was his custom made Winchester! That rifle was left on Allan Quatermain's grave back in Africa as a tribute...the only way he could think of to show how much the man buried there had meant to him. How did this guy get it?

Forgetting his profusely bleeding wound and the increasing pain and weakness due to it, Tom forced his limbs to obey, finally able to stand. Holding his retrieved pistols firmly in each hand, the young spy shrugged off his immense discomfort and confronted his remaining attackers.

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Allan was thankful the sniper shot only to disable Sawyer, but the boy was still hurt, and he was too far away to reach him without being gunned down in the progress. If he got these last three bastards out of his hair, he could get the lad to safety.

In the corner of his eye, Quatermain saw Sawyer get up and run headlong towards the remnant of bikers. What in bloody hell was that boy thinking? Taking on a bunch of henchmen in his condition? Instantly he ran out after Sawyer, shooting wildly at the kidnappers to keep them disoriented as Tom aimed to kill.

Despite his shaking hands, the American spy managed to take down one man, leaving only two more to go. He could hear the Winchester covering his back, but Tom ignored his natural curiosity to see who was helping him. After these last two holdouts were dealt with, he'd get his answers.

Knowing the tides had definitely turned against their favor, the two thugs exchanged glances and slunk back into the shadows to escape. Furious at the cowardice the ruffians showed, Tom forced his body to run after them, determined to finish what '_they_' had started.

A Scottish tinged voice stopped him cold in his tracks.

"Let it go, son," Quatermain spoke quietly into the night air as he reached a hand out to grab Sawyer's left shoulder.

Sawyer closed his eyes, the adrenaline rush that kept him going fading fast. It couldn't be... As much as he wanted it to be true...it couldn't be. Allan Quatermain had died...died in front of him.

In the soft moonlight, Allan could see the spy's all too pale features, and the heavy smell of blood filled his nostrils. Placing the Winchester down against his leg, the old hunter gingerly turned Sawyer around to face him.

"We need to get you back home, Jekyll can fix you up..."

Tom's trembling increased, his body growing numbingly cold as he felt his life and energy draining. "Am I dyin'?" he asked quietly, his eyes still closed. Was Quatermain here to escort him to the hereafter?

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Allan responded with a worried frown. "Look at me, lad." When the young agent finally did as was asked, Quatermain knew there was serious trouble. Tom was going into shock.

"Boy, look at me...don't loose contact...," Allan demanded gently, hiding the fear in his tone."You're going to be just fine...you hear me?" When Tom's eyes began to grow glassy, the adventurer grasped the sides of Sawyer's face in a move of desperation. He was losing him...

Using his thumbs, Quatermain stroked the cool, clammy cheeks over and over, assuring Tom everything was going to be all right. After what seemed like an eternity to the older man, Sawyer's eyes briefly focused on him.

"Allan?" Sawyer asked through chattering teeth.

Quatermain awkwardly removed his coat while keeping one of his hands constantly on the spy's cheek, and did his best to place the garment around the shivering body. With that done, he pulled Sawyer up against his chest, hoping his body heat would provide some warmth as he continued to move his thumb back and forth on the exposed side of the young man's face. Keeping the physical link was the only thing he could think of to let Sawyer know he was with him...and safe.

Feeling solid flesh against him, Sawyer prayed this wasn't some cruel hallucination brought on by his blood loss. He had seen others succumb to their injuries after seeing a deceased love one appear before them, but his was only a leg wound...could it be that serious?

"It's all right, lad, I'm not leaving you again," Allan soothed, continuing the contact. "You lean into me, and I'll support your weight. We need to get you some help..."

The voice was so real... Sawyer buried his face into the adventurer's shoulder as his fingers dropped the heavy guns, and grabbed onto Quatermain's vest jacket. "Please...be alive," he begged in a desperate tone.

Moisture stung at his eyes as Allan felt his heart ache at the plea. Tightening his grip around his protege, he placed his other hand on the dampened, blonde locks. "I'm very much alive, son," Allan replied in a hushed, fatherly tone. "And from now on I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Everything began to swirl in a dizzying motion as Tom tried to lift his head up to see if Allan Quatermain was truly there. The familiar, weathered features were looking back at him, but he still feared to believe it.

"That's right, boy," Quatermain smiled faintly, "take a good look at this crusty old man. You aren't seeing things."

"H-how?"

"Shhh..., we'll talk about all that later," the hunter responded. "We have to go now. Think you can shift your weight against me?"

Sawyer felt his body being moved closer to Quatermain's side, and the young agent cried out in pain. Despite the numbness overtaking the rest of his body, the bullet wound continued to make it's presence known unmercifully.

He couldn't afford to wait any longer. Knowing what he was about to do would cause the American spy even more agony, Quatermain removed his hand from Sawyer's head and whisked it under the young man's legs, lifting him off the ground.

"Forgive me, lad," Allan said sorrowfully as he heard his protege struggle to bite back a scream. "You're going to bleed to death if we don't get you some help."

"No...too...too...heavy," Sawyer protested weakly, his body being cradled securely in his mentor's arms. "You...can't..."

"Are you trying to say I'm too old to carry you?"

His head lolling toward's the hunter's shoulder, Tom managed a small grin. "Yes," he forced out in a breath.

"I'm full of surprises." The smile faded when he felt the bundle in his arms go slack; Sawyer having passed out. Quatermain began the trek back to the agent's home, ignoring the blood soaked clothing drenching him down to his skin, and his body protesting his age as he fought to keep the youth steady in his arms.

He wasn't going to fail again!


	14. chapter 14

**Pull-My-Finger: **LOL...like your moniker. Thanks for weighing in. Hope I can keep your interest the rest of the way!

**queerquail:** Allan didn't fail, it's up to someone else now....wink wink

**Angharad: **Thanks for reviewing! I'm plotting in my head right now how Tom will react to Allan, how everyone...especially Allan...will react to Gray.

**Sarinx: **Appreicate the words...thank you so much.

**kingleby: **Glad you liked it. I wanted a 'bonding' moment...but didn't want to make it 'unmanly'...LOL.

**Sethoz: **Thank you for the reprieve of the threats....heheehe. Jekyll's going to be in the next few chapters quite a bit. A little call out to a LXG gal pal of mine who's big on the doc.

**funyun: **We talk about Star Wars again...wink wink. I grew up on the original three, but I prefer the newer ones myself. It was kinda cool watching the old ones, and seeing how the new ones tie in. Oh, and don't give up on the aliens just yet. I haven't gotten to that part!

**Clez: **You gave me a chapter of Envenom, so I was inspired, as always.

**MJ: **I hope you're on the mend! And don't worry about reviewing....I'm so happy to get one from you. Hope I didn't make you wait too long.

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Dr. Jekyll raced back to where Sawyer's house was located, his mind racing at the small bit of information he gleaned at the O'Brien's. Dorian Gray was back from the dead? He hated entertaining the idea, but they had all thought Allan Quatermain was dead as well...how wrong they were on that! What could the immortal want with Sawyer? He only served M because the master criminal had stolen his painting. Was he planning on taking them down one by one for revenge?

"_Henry! I smell blood!" _Edward Hyde exclaimed excitedly inside Jekyll's mind. _"It belongs to_ _the boy."_

"Are you sure?" The handsome doctor felt his heart thump faster in his chest.

"_Not only am I sure, the smell's coming closer."_

Tom was injured? At first Jekyll felt sorrow, but another thought drove his keen, medical mind into overdrive. His young friend was injured, still he was coming none the less. "Tell me where he is, Edward," he anxiously asked his alter ego.

"_He's not alone," _Mr. Hyde answered, with a snort. _"Quatermain is with him, and from the smell, you had better spend your time getting ready for Sawyer...I don't think he'll be feeling too well." _

Henry's face screwed up in disgust at the almost jovial laugh the behemoth gave. "How can you laugh at a time like this? Tom's done nothing to you!"

"_I'm not laughing because of him,"_ Hyde admitted gleefully. _"I'm laughing at you. You spent all that time worrying, and it's going to be for nothing...you're too late."_

He knew the evil personality was only trying to goad him, but Jekyll took note of Edward's heightened senses. He must be smelling a massive amount of blood to make a comment like that. Shaking off the smattering of laughter Hyde was still indulging in, the doctor raced towards the direction of the Department of the Treasury, hoping to run across Quatermain and the injured spy somewhere along the way.

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"Nemo?" Skinner called out when he saw the Indian captain across the way. Had he heard or seen those odd contraptions too?

"Mr. Skinner?" Nemo asked, searching his immediate area in vain. "Make yourself presentable." His nerves were already on edge from the sight of the demonic motorcycles and their riders, he didn't need to be playing hide and seek with the invisible thief on top of everything else.

"I would, but my make-up's in my coat...which even you can see I'm not wearing." Skinner mentally kicked himself for his retort. It might've been some twisted way for him to relieve his worry, but he didn't think the stoic captain of the Nautilus wouldn't see it that way. "Sorry," he mumbled as he neared his teammate.

"We are both not ourselves," Nemo answered with a sigh. "Did you happen to see...."

"Those dangerous looking bikes?" Rodney finished. The invisible rogue looked around the deserted streets, the sudden quiet unsettling. "Don't think those blokes found what they were looking for, do you?"

"I pray they haven't, but the silence does not bode well," Nemo had to concede. The noise the machines made were enough to wake the dead if such a feat was possible.

Skinner chose to see a brighter side. "Maybe it's a good sign too," he insisted, "I mean, they're not roaring back....like they caught Sawyer...."

"Maybe they weren't out to only capture him," the captain spoke quietly. "I saw where they were heavily armed."

"What? You aren't trying to say they might've shot him?" Rodney shook his head, refusing to even consider the possibility. "Naw, we would've heard gunfire. Ol' Quatermain himself told us to keep an ear out for it...and believe me...I was."

"Would we have heard it? The almost deafening sound of the motorcycles would have drowned out any gunfire." Nemo lowered his head, despising the sad conclusions fighting for control in his fact oriented mind. He didn't want to give up hope, but he was also a realist. Agents have been disappearing without a trace, and Sawyer was just as much an agent as they were...would it be reasonable to think he was spared a different fate from the others?

"And wouldn't we be hearing those bastards leaving?" Skinner questioned. He was smiling to himself...if anyone could've seen his face. "They sure weren't trying to sneak in, so why would they sneak out without making a sound?"

A grin lit up on Nemo's brown features. "Mr. Skinner, I gratefully stand corrected," he said with a respectful half-bow. As he straightened, an odd, dark shaped figure emerging from a cluster of trees caught the captain's attention.

"Hey...hey...isn't that?" the invisible rogue exclaimed, the sight of Allan Quatermain an encouraging sign. The old boy wouldn't be coming back unless he had found out something about Sawyer.

The two men raced eagerly towards their comrade, but as they neared, they also noticed the coat- wrapped bundle the old adventurer was laboring to carry. Strands of blonde hair stuck out from the top opening of the coat, and the smell of blood was overwhelming, almost making Skinner retch.

Stopping briefly as he saw Nemo coming, Quatermain tried to call out to him, but his hard breathing only allowed a groan of pain. At least he would now have some help getting Sawyer to back to the house.

"Is he hurt bad?" Skinner asked as he came up beside Allan, startling the older man.

"Dammit Skinner!" Quatermain cursed, almost dropping Tom in the process.

Nemo gasped as he took in the spy's pale face. Reaching out, he touched the skin, confirming his suspicion...shock. "We must get him immediate medical attention!"

The invisible rogue squelched his nausea, and eased half of Sawyer's unconscious form against himself, relieving some of Allan's burden. He had to give Quatermain credit for carrying the kid this far...Tom was no delicate flower. "We better get going then," he said in an urgent tone.

"It will still take too long," Nemo insisted. "I will hurry back to the house and retrieve my automobile, then we can drive Sawyer to the nearest hospital."

"Sounds good to me," Rodney agreed, taking a glance over in Allan's direction; the adventurer looked ready to collapse. It would be a long and awkward walk back if they tried to carry their American friend the whole way.

Hurrying back towards Sawyer's home, Nemo nearly collided with Dr. Jekyll. Viewing the intense concern on the Indian's face, Henry knew it concerned Tom.

"How bad is it?"

"He's lost much blood, and has gone into shock," Nemo answered between breaths. "I'm going for my automobile now."

Henry nodded his head in approval, rushing past the captain to see Tom's injuries for himself, and to help in any way he could. Blood loss was bad enough to deal with, but shock was a different story all together.

A deep laugh shot through the doctor's head. _"I told you! You're too late."_

"Shut up, Edward!" Jekyll snapped, determined to prove his alter ego wrong. It would not be too late, not if he had anything to say about it!

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"I demand to be released immediately!" Dorian yelled through the small opening in the middle of the fortified door. His self-incrimination was over, and now he was furious at the underhanded tactics that caused his current imprisonment. Worse yet, his American charge was probably in serious trouble, and stuck in here, the immortal could do nothing to prevent anything; only to await his descent back into Hell.

"We are contacting the British embassy to deport you," Trevor Whitcomb answered back. "Until then you will remain in our custody. Maybe your government can get you back with the League."

"What about Sawyer?" Gray half-snarled. "Do I even get to say farewell?"

"Mr. Sawyer is to have no further contact with you," Whitcomb replied cooly. "He doesn't need to be around the likes of you or the League."

"Do I sense a bit of malice towards myself and my former teammates?" Gray sniped with a smirk.

His grey eyes igniting, Whitcomb gave a sarcastic laugh instead. "Why would I want one of my agents around a '_freak show'_ of unregenerate criminals and has-beens? Britain is going to be sorry they got the group of you together."

"Oh, I admit we have our little foibles," Gray shrugged, "but our talents can come in handy when ordinary forms of protection fail."

"You talk as if you were an actual member!" Whitcomb scoffed. "From what I heard, it was all an act to sabotage the mission against the Fantom. An act that almost cost my agent his life, I might add."

Idly twirling his sword cane between his fingers, the immortal stared at it as if studying the secret weapon. "Oh, your '_agent' _survived just fine," Dorian replied with a tone of boredom. "Foiled the Fantom's plots despite everything." The brown eyes fixed arrogantly on the senior agent. "Aren't you so very proud?"

"Let's end this polite chatter and cut to the chase, Gray. Why are you really here?"

"To reform."

Whitcomb shook his head in disbelief and frowned at this prisoner. "For how long this time?" Picking up on the faint look of curiosity on Gray's features, the head of the Secret Service continued. "You have left quite a trail of deception, depravity, greed, and yes, occasional acts of decency in your many years on this planet. I find this current claim of repentance hard to swallow."

Placing his hand on his chest in mock sentimentality, Dorian raised his eyes heavenward. "I am so humbled by your keen interest in my person."

"I don't give a tinker's damn about you."

Dorian winked knowingly. "That's right, your concern lies solely in Agent Sawyer's welfare. So I wasn't wrong in surmising that the boy is favored. I take it your associate doesn't share the same high appraisal as yourself?"

"None of this conversation concerns myself, my subordinate, or especially Mr. Sawyer," Whitcomb huffed.

"Are we only talking about me? My favorite subject," the dashing immortal commented with wicked sarcasm.

"Not mine," Whitcomb shot back with a disapproving glance towards the aristocrat. "Very soon you can bore the British consulate with your fairytales." Turning on his heel, the master spy left his '_guest_', smiling to himself. After tomorrow, Agent Sawyer would have no further link to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

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Even from a distance Henry could tell Sawyer was in a bad way as he ran towards his comrades. The young man was half -lying on the grass, his upper torso slumped against Quatermain's chest, while the moonlight exposed the all too pale skin under the tightly wrapped coat. Red smears of blood seem to float about in the air nearby, telling the medical man that Rodney Skinner was here as well.

"Jekyll? Thank God, man you're here!" Allan cried out in relief. "A damn sniper shot the boy in the thigh...."

Henry didn't answer, instantly squatting down to examine the unconscious agent. A thigh wound...that would explain the massive blood loss. They were nasty bleeders. Pulling out a silver plated knife from his vest pocket, Jekyll began to cut away at the saturated pant's leg. Checking for an enter and exit wound, the doctor found some comfort in the fact that it was a clean shot through, appearing to have hit only the meaty part of the thigh, not the bones.

"Bloody bugger knew what he was doing, hitting Sawyer there," Quatermain growled to no one in particular. "Wait for the lad to pass out from the pain or blood loss, and then nab him."

"Me and Nemo saw some familiar looking gents riding motorized bicycles," Rodney added. "Were they behind this?"

"Yes," the old hunter replied bitterly. "About fourteen of those bastards were chasing him." He looked down at his protege, absently rubbing his thumb against the youth's cool cheek, recalling how Sawyer had stood his ground and fought back. "If it wasn't for that dirty shot, the boy would've cleaned out the whole rotten lot of them."

"I knew the kid wouldn't go down without a fight," Skinner chuckled. "How many did he get?"

"Two got away, but not with their bikes," Allan replied. "He still fought them off, even after he was hit." The memory of the recent battle reminded the adventurer of something else that was left behind with the dead bikers. "Damn it all...the guns... back at that park...."

"I'll get them," Skinner offered quickly. Now that Dr. Jekyll was here, Sawyer would be all right, and he could get away from that horribly dense smell of blood. The scent alone was terrible enough, but the added fact it belonged to a friend made it harder to handle.

"Thank you," Quatermain mumbled. He felt stupid about worrying over a rifle, but that gun was more prized by him now than even Matilda. The explorer understood the meaning behind Tom's leaving of the rifle on his grave, and though he wouldn't admit it to anyone else, he was moved by the gesture.

Removing his jacket, Jekyll placed it over the spy's lower half, meeting Quatermain's anxious gaze with one of worry. "We have to get this bleeding stopped, and then get him warmed up if he's to be given a chance to survive."

Allan nodded, appreciating the doctor's frankness. "Nemo's getting his car, and then we can take him to hospital...."

"We can't wait for that," Henry said firmly. "By the time we find one, it could be too late." Raising his hand for silence when the hunter opened his mouth in protest, the younger man stood his ground. "We'll take him back to his house. It's closer, and while I'm stitching up the wound, you and the others can prepare for what comes after that. It's the only way, Allan."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Quatermain gently drew Sawyer tighter against him, using his body heat to help warm the blonde agent's chilled form.

Wishing to ease the sadness in the old adventurer's face, Jekyll placed a hand of top of Tom's head, and looked at the League's leader directly in the eyes. "I swear to you now, Allan, that I will do everything in my capability to help him," he vowed wholeheartedly. The next words uttered by the great Allan Quatermain took the doctor by surprise, but also filled him with a sense of worth.

"I never doubted that for a moment."

The two complex men exchanged fleeting smiles, a rare moment of understanding shared between them. Jekyll inched closer to Sawyer's side, adding his body heat while they awaited the arrival of Skinner and Nemo.

Pushed back into the farthest part of Jekyll's consciousness, even Hyde had to concede. He'd leave his weaker side alone to tend to the toddler. Besides, he didn't want to deal with all the suffocating emotions he would be forced to suffer through if Sawyer didn't make it. Satisfied with his excuses, Edward curled up and allowed his presence to go dormant.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Mina sat idly on a lush hilltop overlooking a quaint Italian village, her auburn hair loose and flowing softly in the breeze that added to the picture perfect vista before her. How could a place so idyllic and beautiful be the scene of so many abductions?

Instantly the vampiress' thoughts turned to her young friend. Since viewing the odd flare that was heading straight towards America, she had been unable to think on anything else. Usually the flares appeared first, then an agent would disappear. As heartless as it sounded, she hoped a different agent had been kidnaped instead of Tom. She couldn't bear the thought of the others almost reaching him, only to find him missing...or worse.

Closing her weary eyes, Mina banished the thoughts from her mind. Tom was fine, probably euphoric over Quatermain's return. She could remember all too well how much the hunter's death had weighed on Sawyer, and even though he may have smiled now and again, it was a haunting, fleeting one at best.

Just like the last time she had seen him, aboard the Nautilus before it docked in Washington, D.C.. It almost broke her heart to see Tom so subdued and pensive, and it was obvious he wasn't thrilled to be home, but she still had this sense that he would have refused to stay longer, even if he could have.

He had tentatively returned her farewell hug, forcing a smile when Mina assured him that they would be soon fighting side by side again. Even the flirtatious, though adorable overtures Tom used to make towards her had stopped, despite her slight encouragement.

She knew he had to be feeling guilt over Quatermain's death and Skinner's burns. The same feeling was raging through her over Dorian, though he deserved his demise. Poor Tom...he truly was a sweet soul, and the tragedy that happened at M's fortress would be felt for quite some time. A smile formed. At least now Allan would put those feelings to rest for him.

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"He's going to need a blood transfusion," Henry frowned, re-wrapping the still bleeding wound on Tom's thigh, "but I don't have the proper equipment."

"I have it on my Nautilus," Nemo informed the doctor from the driver's seat. "You only need tell me what you require."

"And I'm supplying the blood," Quatermain insisted, hugging Sawyer's limp form closer. Why wouldn't the boy warm up? Despite the body heat and piles of blankets, the young spy was still too chilled for comfort.

"I think Skinner or Nemo would be a better choice," Jekyll argued gently, not wanting to glance in Allan's direction, sure of the look he was receiving. "I'm not sure how the blood loss will affect you, and your age is a factor as well."

"Nemo is going to be too busy making other arrangements, and Skinner...well...I don't know if his '_uniqueness_' will harm the lad more than help," the hunter explained, looking down worriedly at this protege. "I am doing it, and that's the end of the matter."

Dr. Jekyll was prepared to debate the point further, but he fell silent as he watched the old explorer rub a calloused thumb repeatedly over Tom's right cheek. Quatermain was the picture of fatherly concern, and the medical man realized he wouldn't win this argument, no matter how sound the reasoning. He would just have to be extra careful not to take out too much blood to harm the older man.

"Pahsha," Nemo called to his first mate into a small, round device on the car's dashboard. "I need you to summon Dr. Monde, and have him gather the necessary equipment to perform an emergency blood transfusion. I will need his assistance and two helpers as well. Come to the co-ordinates of Agent Sawyer's house, that is where we will be."

"Get some men together to watch the house," Quatermain ordered from the back seat. "And you might want to take a few with you when you meet with the ambassador to England."

"What?" Nemo queried before having to step on the brakes to avoid missing the front of the spy's modest home.

The adventurer answered by shoving a piece of folded paper into the captain's bright, blue uniform. "You will go immediately to the ambassador's house, and give him this note. He'll understand. Do not return until he is with you."

"But can't this wait? It is very late."

"No! Once the authorities see those dead bikers littered across the park...it'll only be a matter of time before the Secret Service tries to take the boy," Quatermain said in urgency. Hefting Tom's body up higher so Jekyll could grab at it better, the hunter fixed his friend with an ardent look. "This is the only way to avoid a nasty scene, because I'll be damned if any of those buggers are going anywhere with Sawyer!"

"Skinner! Get the biggest table you can find cleared off, then find a clean sheet to put on it!" Jekyll yelled as he struggled with Sawyer's dead weight. Soon he had the youth pulled out enough for Quatermain to pick up the legs, easing their youngest member out of the car.

Rodney raced inside the spy's house, instantly turning on the gas lamps as he went through the rooms. Thankfully the kitchen table was bare of any clutter, and minutes later the invisible rogue exited the bedroom with an armful of white sheets and blankets just as Jekyll and Quatermain entered, carrying Tom between them.

Draping a sheet over the kitchen table, Skinner quickly jumped out of the others way, planting the remainder of his stash on a nearby chair. "Is there anything else you need me to do?" he asked quietly, fully taking in Sawyer's deathly pallor. The poor kid looked awful.

Jekyll regained his breath. "I need a bath started. Warm water only...not too hot, not too cold. Once I stitch him up, we'll use the bath to keep him warm while we wait for Dr. Monde." The doctor pulled the strap that held his medical bag off his shoulder, digging into the kit to gather what meager tools he had. He purposely kept an extra bag inside Nemo's car for such an emergency. It would be enough to clean and dress the gunshot, but he would need much more to save Tom's life.

Happy to be doing something, the invisible rogue eagerly set about his task, grateful the young spy had hot and cold running water inside the house. Repeatedly he dipped his hand into the water, worried it wasn't warm enough. Was his transparent skin a poor tester? Obviously cold didn't affect him much, so would he be able to discern warm? He sighed in aggravation. Should he call Dr. Jekyll? Quatermain was out of the question. There was no way the old gent was leaving Sawyer's side for a second. Peeking out of the bathroom doorway, Skinner watched Dr. Jekyll wipe a bloodied hand off onto a towel he had tucked halfway into his slacks.

"I've got the bleeding stopped, and the wound is thoroughly cleansed and stitched," Henry commented, looking past Quatermain and towards the bathroom. "Is the bath ready, Skinner?"

"I...uh, was about to ask you about that," Rodney hedged. "Could you maybe check the water...to make sure it's the right temperature?"

Nodding, the doctor joined Skinner, testing the water by shoving his whole forearm into the tub. "It's a tad warmer than it should be, but a small bit of cold water will do the trick. Thank you, Rodney." A small exhale of air left the rogue as he watched the cold water flow from the spout . He hadn't screwed up after all.

"Is the bath ready?" Quatermain called out anxiously from the kitchen. "The boy's trembling a bit."

Both men hurried from the lavatory, helping Allan carry Sawyer to the tub. As gently as they could, they lowered their youngest into the water, making sure to keep the spy's head from sinking under.

His thumb still stroking the pale cheek, Allan cradled the blonde head between his hands. "Don't that feel better, lad?" he spoke quietly, not caring at the moment that others were present. "We'll get you toasty warm in no time."

"Don't worry about anything, Sawyer," Skinner chimed in, "we got everything covered."

The adventurer threw an appreciative smile the invisible man's way. "He can hear you, you know."

"You sound so sure of that fact," Henry said, tilting his head a little in curiosity. "I've read studies where they suspect people who are comatose can hear those about them, but it's never been proven." The handsome doctor glanced down at his unconscious friend. "I'd still rather talk than to sit around and do nothing."

Clearing the lump that had been building in his throat, Quatermain kept his eyes on Tom. "He can hear us, just like I heard him..."

Jekyll and Skinner stared at their leader, incredulous. Sawyer often made secret visits to the icy cargo hold that held the hunter's '_body_', talking to his deceased mentor to help ease the sorrow.

The doctor's blue eyes blazed hot at the recollection, once inadvertently overhearing some of Tom's grief filled conversation. Quatermain had heard all those heartfelt words spoken to him...and yet did nothing until months later to try to alleviate the American's suffering? With all the urgency of reaching Sawyer in time, he never gave a proper thought as to why Allan never told anyone he had survived. A range of emotions swept through Henry's mind, from disappointment to confusion, to even wanting to place a sharp upper cut to the explorer's jaw.

Allan's facial features eased the warring feelings inside Jekyll. Every inch of the hunter's face was filled with guilt and worry, and whatever reasons Quatermain had for staying away so long was now slapping him in the face with full force.

"He'll come back to us," Rodney said confidently, placing an invisible hand on the seasoned adventurer's shoulder. "Ol' Sawyer has faced bigger odds than this."

The rogue felt more pity than anger towards Allan. He had secretly been on the conning tower when Sawyer and Quatermain had their '_shooting lesson_', hearing the older man confess as to why he had secluded himself in Africa after the death of his son. Tom was spared by Allan's sacrifice, but did it hit too close to home? Was the great white hunter afraid of failing Sawyer, like he felt he had failed his son?

Keeping his suspicions to himself, Skinner joined his teammates in urging their stricken friend to hang on, praying the help wouldn't arrive too late.

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Whirls of cigar smoke hung in the air of the office, the possessor of the space relaxed behind an enormous mahogany desk. Smiling to himself, the man took another drag on the expensive cigar, relishing his soon to be victory over the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. By now his team had secured Special Agent Sawyer, and when Allan Quatermain and the rest of his misfit band of deviants showed up, they would be led on the ultimate chase. A pursuit that would lead to their destruction once and for all.

The mastermind thought back bitterly to the failure of James Moriarty, the man he trusted to ensure that their goals were eventually met. Granted, assembling the League was a risk in itself, but it was working according to plan until...a determined spy meddled his way into the plot. Who would have thought a mere boy could ruin years of devising, throwing a monkey wrench into one of the most carefully thought out plots in history?

A soft string of curses left the man's mouth over M's overconfidence. If the fool hadn't killed Agent Finn earlier than planned, Agent Sawyer never would have gotten involved, setting things back by months. Rubbing at his temples, the man shook his head. It was all pointless now. The League might've won the first battle, but not this one. He had planned for everything, and without M's blustering arrogance and heavy-handedness cluttering the background, it would go more on schedule.

Turning when he heard a faint tap coming from behind him, the man frowned in displeasure at the two dark clothed figures huddled under his window sill. He had given explicit instructions to his hired hands where to contact him! Growling under his breath, the man opened the window, urging the henchmen inside quickly before anyone noticed them.

"You stupid imbeciles!" the leader hissed after pulling the drapes closed, his cold eyes narrowing as he studied the men before him. "Where is Roberts or Daniels?" he demanded.

"D-dead," one of the bikers answered, cowering under the blistering glare of their boss.

"Both of them?"

"Yes, Sir. We're all that's left."

"Of fourteen damn men?" The man's mouth fell open briefly in stunned shock. "I sent fourteen men to kidnap one, and..." Throwing his hands up in futility, the man paced the room. "Just tell me Agent Sawyer has been taken to the assigned location and leave my sight."

"He...got away," the other biker half-whispered.

"**WHAT**?" His eyes took on an almost demonic light as he lunged at the two men, grabbing both by their collars, and drawing them closer to his face. "Fourteen men on motorcycles, one boy on foot... **HOW IN HELL IS IT POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO ESCAPE**?"

"There was this old man...," the first biker scrambled to respond. "He kept us pinned, and the boy...well, even after Roberts shot him...he wouldn't go down."

"Roberts shot the agent?" The leader released the cronies, furious with the evolving details. "I gave strict orders that the young man was not to be unnecessarily harmed!"

"The bloody nipper was picking us off, one by one," the second henchmen said. "Something had to be done to stop him."

"That's what the rest of you blasted idiots were for!" the mastermind snarled in disgust. "I cannot believe one boy defeated all of you!"

"That old geezer was a crack shot," the first biker explained. "Shot Roberts from the tree he was hiding in."

A deep, niggling thought hit the man as he pondered the men's story. An old man, a crack shot... "What did this man look like?" he asked, turning his back to the bikers.

"Didn't get the best look at him, but he was rather tall, had a grey beard and wore a long, brown leather coat," the second man recalled. "He was wearing a hat, so I couldn't see much of his face."

"He was shooting a fancy looking Winchester too," the other biker added.

His fingers curling so tight into his balled fists that the nails began to draw blood, the man clenched his jaw in rage. Quatermain! Damn it all! Calming himself before he literally exploded, the leader walked over to a built in book case, opening a hinged cupboard that hid a small cache of booze.

"This is a serious set-back, gentlemen," he said with an eerie calm, pouring out three small glasses of scotch. "But it is only that...a set-back. We will have to be more clever the next time we try for Agent Sawyer."

"But didn't we lose the element of surprise?" the first biker asked, taking the amber colored intoxicant from his boss.

"True...," the leader conceded, giving his other underling a glass, "but maybe we also opened up another door that the League won't be expecting." Watching the two men drain their drinks, the mastermind slowly sipped his, his mind churning with new ideas to capture the young spy.

Ushering the henchmen out where they had entered, the leader sighed heavily as he closed and locked the window. Inside he was still furious over the botched kidnaping, but he also begrudgingly accepted the fact he would have to start over from scratch; hiring a new group of more experienced men.

Picking up the two empty glasses, the man smiled to himself. He wouldn't have to worry about those buffoons anymore. The poison he discreetly dropped into their drinks should take it's lethal effect soon after they reached whatever hole they had crawled out from.

Failure was not tolerated.

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Rising from her perch, Mina sighed in disappointment. She had so hoped to find some sort of clue, but like her other nights of observing, this was proving to be as uneventful as the rest. The vampiress dusted off her velvet skirt and began to leave the area when her bat-like hearing picked up several strange sounds.

One sound was very distinct, it was a human...a man to be more specific, and his voice was raised in an usually high pitch, as if he was screaming in terror. Instantly Mina flew in the directions of the screams, the other sounds accompanying it growing in number and volume. If she didn't know better, it sounded like an army of Nemo's automobiles.

In a matter of minutes she was on the scene, her ice blue eyes bulging open in amazement. A young man dressed in an Italian army uniform was running for his life across the grassy slopes, yelling for help as he struggled to keep moving. Mina was totally unprepared for the pursuer, the shock of the sight temporarily immobilizing her from taking action.

Her calculations were correct, whoever was kidnaping the spies was using an enormously large contraption...but...this...this was nothing she had ever seen before! The oval shaped craft glided through the starry skies, hovering behind the terrified prey as if toying with him. Lights of red, blue, green, and white blinked on and off repeatedly, almost beautiful in it's ominous design.

Mina stood staring as if hypnotized by the extraordinary sight, but the piteous cry from the victim drew the half-vampire from her stupor. With rapid speed she descended from her vantage point, swooping down to lift the fallen young soldier into her embrace seconds before the floating object reached him. Far from being grateful, the soldier thrashed about in Mina's strong hold, a new sort of creature after him now.

"You have nothing to fear from me," Mina tried to assure the frightened young man, his weight and struggles hampering her ability to fly. A flurry of words spoken in Italian was aimed at the vampire, the frantic wrestling increasing with each utterance. Unable to continue her grip, Mina gently put the soldier down on the ground, urging him in his own language to hurry and find some sort of shelter.

Her eyes turning blood red, Mina threw her head back with a fierce snarl , baring her fangs as she flew back up into the air towards the unearthly object. Landing on top with a heavy thud, the female vampire touched the odd feeling material. It was a metal of some sort, but it had a light feeling to it as well.

Before Mina could study it more, she was thrown from the air borne contraption when it halted abruptly and violently. Recovering quickly, she circled back, determined to tear open this flying '_oval_' with her bare hands if she had to. The once colorful lights began to fill the immediate area with an overpowering glow, blinding the auburn haired woman as she stopped her attack.

Trying to shield her eyes, Mina struggled to find her way back to the craft, but failing as she plummeted to the ground, her brain and eyes not functioning properly. What had happened? It was like something had clouded her senses, rendering her useless. As her instant healing abilities kicked in, Mina shook the cobwebs from her mind while pulling herself out of the deep rut her body had made on impact.

With her eyes still closed, the vampiress noted the brightness behind her eyelids had diminished, allowing her to peel them open carefully. Blinking back the many white spots dancing before her, Mina was finally able to focus, finding herself directly under the flying object that hovered overhead. An odd, sucking noise was made as a square door opened above her. Jumping back, she prepared to defeat whoever was responsible for these abductions. If she could not save all the other poor souls, she would at least protect Tom.

Her beautiful features took on the full form of the beast inside her, eagerly awaiting her prey so to spring her deadly attack. Even the terrors of Dracula was more human than the ghastly figure that leapt through the open doorway. Mina stumbled back a few steps in utter horror.

What on earth was this?


	16. chapter 16

**Ten Mara: **Thanks for the review! I know I'm a fan of your writing as well! Talk at you later!

**Angharad: **I love Allan being 'Dad' too, and I think Jekyll needs some time in the sun, not just Hyde all the time. Mina and yes, Dorian make an appearance.

**Sethoz: **LOL, well, here's another chapter. With Tom being out for a while, I let the others play.

**Girl from Mars: **LMBO...no, it's not Dorian. Tom will be opening those gorgeous eyes next chapter, I promise. Hang in there!

**Clez: **Thank you! Hey, where have you been? Been busy writing I hope! I still hit on that one story just waiting for it to pop up!

**Mellaithwen: **Thanks. Love that Tom angst as well! I got the impression the others didn't know about Allan's son, so they wouldn't understand about why Allan hid away in Africa.

**Samyo: LMBO...**I haven't forgotten about this story!

**Everyone please check out "Rubicon 1" by Ten Mara! Great stuff!**

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CHAPTER 16

Kenneth Masterson stifled a yawn as met the serious agent on the other side of the door. "Mr. Malloy?" he queried, surprised to be roused so late at night. The British diplomat had met with members of the Secret Service before, but usually with more protocol. And the man now standing in his foyer was not his favorite one to deal with. Mr. Malloy tended to be a bit on the 'moody' side, always making you feel like you were being inspected or something.

"Were you informed of the prisoner?" Malloy asked abruptly.

"Yes, but I told my assistant earlier in the evening that I would handle the matter in the morning," Masterson replied as politely as he could.

"We would like him taken care of immediately."

Looking at the master agent as if he was insane, Masterson frowned, his body inching up in protest. "This Mr. Gray is detained, is he not?"

"Yes, but...."

"Then he can wait till morning. And since you disturbed my rest, it'll be late morning. Goodbye, Sir." Ushering the spy away, Masterson was about to close the door to his home when he saw the most amazing sight stop in the street. Both the spy and the diplomat stared in awe as Nemo's car pulled up, but it was the man in the spectacular blue uniform, and white turban who garnered the most attention.

Captain Nemo brushed by Malloy without even a glance, his dark, keen eyes only on the man Allan requested. Bowing respectfully, the Indian held out the piece of paper he was given.

"Please forgive the intrusion, but I must give you this message, and act upon the contents immediately," Nemo spoke with a tinge of urgency.

Seeing a note scribbled on the paper, the ambassador's eyes widened, and he hastily opened the note, his eyes drinking in every detail. Masterson then clutched the note to his chest as if it were priceless, opening and closing his mouth in utter shock.

"I-I will prepare immediately," he informed the captain. "Please, come in while you wait."

Watching the strange looking man waltz into the diplomat's house, Malloy bristled in irritation, calling out after the pair. "Wait a minute here! You can't help us out, but you bend over backwards to help this man? And it's not even mid-morning, I might add."

Turning, Masterson scowled at the stinging accusations. "Mr. Malloy, you obviously have no idea who this man is, so I will advise you to stop in any further comments before you embarrass yourself further."

Malloy fell silent, inwardly fuming as the door was slammed shut. Who the hell was this odd newcomer, and what could be so important that the American government would be rebuffed? Grunting, the top agent jammed his fists into his pants pockets and started to walk away. Damn...that meant that aggravating immortal was going to be staying a while longer.

Checking out the automobile as he passed by, Malloy felt almost a familiarity with the contraption....like he should know it somehow. Shrugging it off, he continued on his journal back to the Department of the Treasury, determined to talk to someone in immigration about who they allow into the country.

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Two hazel eyes opened in alarm, the body bolting upright from it's laying position and nearly dumping him to the ground. Quatermain cursed as he tried to untangle himself from the blanket around him in the make-shift cot. How long had he been out? Jekyll had warned him that he'd probably sleep a bit after giving blood, but the hunter made it very clear it was not to be more than a couple of hours.

Where in hell was he anyhow? The wrinkles on his brow deepened as he fought the grogginess. It was a small, but comfortable sized room with a little fireplace that was giving off a soft glow as well as heat. Turning his gaze to the right, he saw his young protege tucked neatly in a four poster bed. This had to be Sawyer's bedroom.

The discomfort fizzled as Allan placed a hand on Tom's pale skin. A sigh of relief came out as the boy felt slightly warmer. Smiling to himself, the hunter tilted his head to the side. Sawyer looked so much younger and innocent when he slept. Innocent? The dark brows rose in question. He could easily imagine Sawyer giving his parents fits. The smile turned into a smirk.

"You certainly won't be making any mischief anytime soon," Quatermain spoke softly, brushing back a few longer strands of blonde bangs from the agent's eyes. "You gave us quite a scare, but the worst of it is over, lad. Just rest and let me handle everything else."

It was quite a scare indeed. Countless questions arose as to whether they should have tried to find a hospital rather than wait for Nemo's men, but neither of the three League members would admit out loud that they might've made the wrong decision by staying. They instead took turns talking to their youngest, instilling him with encouragement and a sense of safety.

Allan made sure he kept constant physical contact while they waited, though he couldn't explain why. He just felt the need to let Sawyer know he was there, hopefully giving the boy something to focus on, to return to. And when Nemo's men and Dr. Monde did show up, the hunter was beyond patience, almost dragging the surprised surgeon into the house. It took Skinner to pry off the tightened fingers around the doctor's coat.

The seasoned explorer chuckled in chagrin. The poor doctor probably didn't know what to think! An angry, old bugger storming up and grabbing him like that. He must have been quite the sight, but dammit, he was half worried out of his mind. Maybe he should apologize for the coat grabbing...the language...the raised voice...the threats....

Rubbing a hand over his grey beard, Quatermain shook his head in bewilderment. Normally he prided himself on a cool head, yet he was raging on in front of Dr. Monde like some overreacting...father. Allan closed his eyes. No, he didn't deserve that title, not after failing his own son, and allowing Sawyer to grieve and blame himself for months. He hadn't missed the flash of anger in Dr. Jekyll's eyes. It was totally justified.

"Forgive a foolish, prideful, and stupid old man," Allan mumbled near Tom's ear, placing a weathered hand on the youth's head. "When the witch doctor roused me back to life, all I could think about was how much I had let you down." Quatermain's thumb began to move back and forth on the spy's forehead as he thought back to M's castle.

Quatermain swallowed hard, fumbling for the right things to say. "The more I thought about it, the more I thought it would be best for you to think I was truly gone. That way you could go on with your life, and let this bitter old man wallow in his pig-headedness."

The hunter grunted in derision. No, he knew the real answer. He was scared. When he saw Reed with that knife to Sawyer's throat, the same feeling he had when he saw Harry attacked surfaced. It was his fault for leaving the boy alone, just as he had his son, but this time he could do something to save the victim. Allan recalled the split second decisions that passed through his mind as he stared into the Fantom's mask. The first one was to lower his gun and surrender, but even if M didn't kill both of them, Sawyer would have been taken as a hostage, probably being tortured before he was murdered. That left only one option; he exposed his back to M to kill Reed.

Despite the fact that his '_death_' saved Sawyer's life, he still had that gut wrenching sensation when he came back to the living. Not only did he have the burden of Harry's death, he now had the added weight of Sawyer's close brush with it, so he dealt with it the same way he dealt with Harry's demise ten years ago...he hid away in Africa.

"I'm sorry for the past couple of months. I was only fooling myself into thinking I was helping you when all I was really doing was hiding from past pain." The hunter paused and sighed. " Nemo's right, I can't allow my past to haunt you as well. Maybe some of that optimism of yours could rub off on me," Quatermain shrugged a bit sheepishly. "I guess what I'm trying to say, lad, is that I'm not hiding away again. I'll be here if you want me to be."

When Sawyer responded with a faint shudder, instantly the explorer searched around for some extra blankets. The boy had been almost ice cold to the touch before Jekyll started the transfusion, and it would take quite a bit to warm him back up again. Checking over the blanket he had been using, Allan tossed it back on the cot, excusing it as being too flimsy.

A big, well- worn trunk was at the foot of the bed, the lid slightly ajar. Hoping to find a comforter or a quilt, the adventurer opened the lid fully, taking a quick peek inside. A thick, woolen blanket was rolled up towards the bottom of the chest, and Quatermain eagerly grabbed a hold, not taking any care of how he extracted it.

Allan did a double take when he felt something solid fall against his leg as he straightened. Something had been tucked inside? Glancing down, he saw a rather long and wide, leather bound book that laid open on the floor, a faded newspaper clipping screaming in bold print:

**BRAVE, LOCAL YOUTH TESTIFIES AT TRIAL OF INDIAN JOE**

Tearing his eyes away from the tantalizing headline, Quatermain focused on his surrogate son instead, placing the blanket on the slumbering form. Satisfied Tom was fully covered by the wooly fabric, the hunter's gaze went back to the prone book, one brow rising in curiosity. Who was the article talking about?

Allan repeatedly told himself in his mind he wasn't trying to be nosey, just putting back what he dropped, but when he picked up the book, his eyes did a quick scan, hoping to catch the name of the youth before his conscience won out.

The name Thomas Sawyer was mentioned in the second paragraph, causing the adventurer to grin. He wasn't the least bit surprised. How long ago did this happen? A couple of years ago? Allan's jaw nearly fell open as he read the date on the paper...

Sawyer had to have been at least ten years old at the time!

Too intrigued to put the book down, Quatermain carried it back over to the bed, placing it down on the side of the mattress. After pulling a nearby chair beside the bed, he reached out and kept contact with the younger man by putting his hand back on Tom's head. A tinge of guilt hit the hunter as he began to read the article. After all, this was a personal item, and he didn't have permission to go 'snooping' as it were, but this was from a newspaper...anyone could read this story....

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The unearthly figure before Mina only stared, it's oversized, glassy eyes resembling one big pupil, no white or other color to be seen. Mina recovered from her initial shock, and inched closer, surprised the '_creature_' made no attempts to move or fight her. Taking a few seconds to size up her enormously built competition, the vampiress couldn't help but shudder.

A sickly color of green, the flesh appeared almost like leather, no hair on the bared chest, the arms or legs either. Every inch of the body was engulfed in over protruding muscles, making Mr. Hyde almost seem smaller in comparison. Looking down, a soft blush tinged her pale features as she tried to discern what gender it might be since it wasn't wearing of stitch of clothing. Nothing? How could they procreate?

Shaking her mind clear of any other possibilities of mating habits, Mina concentrated on the so called face of the thing before her. The head was almost human in appearance except for the exaggerated eyes and largeness of the skull. A throbbing vein bulged out from above the eyes, weaving it's way up through the middle of the bald head, showing a strong, and faster than normal heartbeat.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Mina demanded boldly, her chin tilting up to meet the intruder fully in the eyes.

"Your future master, female," the creature answered with disgust in perfect English, the voice deep, dark, and definitely male. "Even you and the League will soon bow down to our power or perish."

Smirking, Mina threw her head back, sending her auburn locks flying behind her in defiance. "I'm not your ordinary '_female_'," she growled in response, her eyes glowing with a sinister bent. "And no one is my master!"

Her terrifying, sharp fangs fully bared, Mina propelled herself towards the enemy, lifting her slender form off the ground in flight, prepared to shove the taunting words back down the creature's throat. Even the males from wherever this one came from was just as ignorant as the men here, and she would be more than happy to show him how wrong it was to underestimate her!

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Patrick Malloy grumbled a threat as he felt the hand shove against his arm. Dammit! After the night he went through, couldn't a man get a few winks? As the shoving persisted, albeit, more hesitantly, the supervisor of the Secret Service peeled one eye open.

"Agent Wilcox, this better be damn important," he growled, nestling his body into a more comfortable position on the couch in the waiting room.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but it's about that prisoner," the younger man began, swallowing hard. "He insists on seeing you right away."

"Oh, him." Malloy rolled his eyes and turned on his side. "Tell him to shut the hell up. He ain't going anywhere."

"He's claiming you are holding him without any grounds, Sir."

"Of course not!"

"Could you tell me what he's being held for? Maybe if I can tell him, he'll finally be quiet."

Cursing under his breath, the wearied spy rose reluctantly from the sofa. He was going to have to settle this personally. Couldn't very well tell an underling that they really didn't have much to hold Gray on. If the damn man wasn't an immortal, a meaty fist to that pristine face would work wonders.

Malloy shuffled back into his office, frowning as he heard the silken smooth accent through closed doors. Didn't this man sleep? Walking up to the fortified door, the master agent folded his arms across his chest, listening to the whining on the other side. Why in the world did this vain aristocrat travel all this way? Could it have truly been about getting Sawyer to talk the others into allowing him back into the League?

The spy snorted. "Shut up in there!" he yelled. Hearing the complaining stop, he continued. "I just spoke to the ambassador. You aren't leaving any time soon."

"Did you stress how important it was for me to reach the League?" Gray demanded through the small trap door.

"He wasn't all that concerned."

"Or maybe he wasn't impressed with your communication skills," Dorian shot back bitterly. "I can just imagine the charm you used."

His anger burning, Malloy wished he could open the door and throttle the bastard. "For your information, he was distracted by some foreign freak dressed in a blue uniform and turban."

A turban? Hope coursed through Gray. "Was it Captain Nemo?"

Malloy's eyes doubled in size. Captain Nemo? That was the name of the League's inventor.... Instantly he recalled the fancy contraption parked in front of the ambassador's house. Of course! He knew it seemed familiar....Agent Sawyer had spoke of that '_automobile_' he had crashed in Venice.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was here!

Gritting his teeth in fury, the director of the Secret Service turned on his heel and began to stalk away. Think they were going to pull a fast one over on him? He would stop them from taking Agent Sawyer back into the League...even if he had to use the damn US army to do it!

"Wait!" Dorian called out after the leaving figure. "Take me with you! I can talk to Nemo...."

"I'm going to be too busy doing my own talking!" Malloy hollered back, slamming the door shut in a more definite answer.

Gray kicked at the door of his prison in frustration. Lately he had been feeling an awful heat, instilling him with a sense of fear. Was that American whelp hurt? He could tell something was wrong, but stuck in here, he couldn't do anything to find out. Sighing, the immortal pulled out a pin-like piece of metal from his shirt sleeve. Doing things by the law wasn't working, and Rodney Skinner wasn't the only one who knew how to open closed doors.

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Jekyll took the steaming hot mug of coffee with a smile from Skinner. "Thanks," he said taking a sip. It had been a long, but worthwhile night. Sawyer's condition had improved drastically from the small transfusion, surprising him and Dr. Monde at how well the young man took to the blood supplied by Quatermain.

"You think the worst is over?" Skinner broke through Henry's musing.

"He's vitals improved greatly after the transfusion," the medical man answered. "I won't lie, shock can act differently in each case, but I have seen some promising signs that our Tom will pull through just fine."

"Think the old boy is still out? It's sure awful quiet in there."

"Allan needs to rest to build himself back up."

Rodney nodded. "Yeah, but weren't we supposed to wake him up a bit ago? He ain't going to be a happy worrywart." Watching Jekyll rub wearily at his eyes, the invisible rogue nudged his friend. "Speaking of rest.... Why don't you go lay down a bit on the sofa? I'll check up on Allan and Sawyer."

"Maybe a bit of rest won't hurt," Henry conceded with a small yawn.

"You've earned it," Skinner replied with a grin. "You saved a life tonight, with the added pressure of an over anxious hunter and a squeamish invisible man."

Breaking out into a hearty laugh, Jekyll patted Rodney's gloved hand. "Thank you, and for the coffee as well." His features sobered slightly. "Now if there's any trouble...."

"I'll call a doctor," Skinner jabbed playfully. "Go get some rest."

Watching his teammate stretch gratefully on the couch, the invisible rogue removed his articles of clothing and crept quietly into Sawyer's bedroom, not wanting to disturb anyone. To his surprise, he found Quatermain already up, engrossed in some kind of book.

If he knew of Rodney's entrance, the adventurer didn't show any signs of it as the former thief peeked over Quatermain's shoulder to see how Tom was doing. The poor kid was still out of it, but the sight of Allan's hand on Sawyer's head caused Skinner to smile. Ol' Quatermain had a soft side after all.

Something sticking up at the end of the bed caught Skinner's attention, and he snuck over to it, finding the trunk opened. Is that where Quatermain got that book? It sure wasn't sitting around when he had prepared the fire and bedding for when Tom was carried in to recuperate. His curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced inside, seeing several magazines scattered among boxes and trinkets the spy must've held dear.

The name of one magazine caught the invisible man's eye. Naw...that wasn't? Was it? Reaching into the trunk, he pulled the aged material out and grinned. If it wasn't Allan Quatermain himself gracing the cover. The title was called "King Solomon's Mines". So, the great white hunter inspired a young American boy as well with his tales of daring do.

A floating object drew Allan's scrutinizing glance, the explorer grunting in irritation. "Skinner!" he half-whispered. "What are you doing in the boy's belongings?"

"Just looking for something to read," the invisible rogue answered. The magazine pointed in the adventurer's direction. "Looks like you found yourself something interesting as well."

Quatermain cleared his throat. "It fell out when I was looking for a blanket...."

"What is it?"

"Newspaper clippings about Sawyer," Allan replied with an enthusiastic edge to his voice. "I had no bloody idea what sort of things he did in his younger years!" The hunter turned back several pages to the original headline that started it all. "He witnessed a murder, then took the stand...and all at ten years old."

Skinner whistled quietly. "Gah! That book is pretty thick...is it all about him?"

Nodding, Allan turned to another clipping. "In this one, Tom and a couple of his friends were thought drowned, but instead they were on an island...pretending to be pirates." The older man chuckled. "Then they bloody walk in on their own funeral!"

Rodney found himself laughing as he scanned through the article. "Cheeky lil' nipper wasn't he? Is there any more you found?"

"He and a Huck Finn found a stash of money in an abandoned house everyone thought was haunted. They were searching for buried treasure."

His eyes going double at the amount they found, Skinner looked around the room. "Think he spent it all? Sure ain't a fancy place he calls home."

"I don't know," Allan shrugged, turning his attention to his protege. "I'm wondering about his parents. They only mention an Aunt Polly in these articles."

Smacking the adventurer on the shoulder, Skinner began to leave. "I guess that'll give you two something to talk about when he wakes won't it? Maybe you can find some juicy tidbits too to hold over his head to make him listen." The invisible man glanced down at his own book. "I'm off to do some reading of my own."

"What did you find?"

"Oh, some old magazine about some old adventure years ago," Rodney smiled, knowing Quatermain couldn't see it, so his little fact finding mission could proceed. This could be a bit of fun....

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Mina threw herself headfirst into the invader, determined to bring his arrogant posture down to a more manageable level; ground level. Stretching out her arms, the half-vampire used them for extra strength, hitting the being in the chest with all the force she could.

A sickening crunch echoed in the night as Mina fell back from her attack, the breathing labored as she waited on her rejuvenating abilities to heal her broken arms. She may have suffered some fleeting moments of pain, but her enemy surely suffered much worse!

The blood red lips gasped open in shock as her tormentor stood before her, perfectly unscathed from her assault! It couldn't be possible! Any other man she would have punched completely through him....

"I am far superior to any mere human, and even your more advanced species are no match for me and my people," the green skinned creature taunted with a cruel laugh. "And for the Earth to send a woman to challenge me is the highest insult."

Calming her fury, the auburn haired vampiress summoned her power over the bats of the area, having them circle around the strange figure to distract him, allowing her to sneak past. Once behind her foe, Mina bared her fangs and lunged towards the leathery skinned neck.

Thrusting them in as hard as she could, Mina's elongated canine teeth only grazed the surface, not even drawing a tiny drop of blood. She pulled back in horror, not seeing the viciously fast backhand that landed upon her face, sending her flying several feet back, and into a tree trunk.

Wood splinters filled the immediate area as Mina sailed through the trunk, her body finally coming to a halt at the bottom of a grassy knoll. As the vampiress groggily arose, the invader coldly kicked her back down, standing haughtily over his vanquished competition.

"I will allow you to live, woman, if only to warn your fellow League members of our supremacy. If you are the best this planet can offer, then you all will be subjugated easily."

Mina only glared in silence. As impossible as it seemed, these alien invaders did seem unbeatable. She had given it her best, but it wasn't enough. A sinking feeling began to overtake her as she helplessly watched the being disappear in a beam of light from the flying craft overhead. If League couldn't stop them, who could?


	17. chapter 17

**A very special shout out goes to Ten for her input.**

**Tonianne: **Thanks for dropping in. How are things going? How are you and your friend? Thanks too for your words on "Crucible of Fear"

**Liberator of captured ang: **Does this ebb the death threats for now? LOL. I might have to hire Agent Sawyer as my personal body guard. No, I must hire him...

**Liss: **You are so kind! I've got my hands full with the three I'm on now...LOL, but anything's possible in the future.

**Doped Out Bunny**: Thank you so much! I have a soft spot for Dorian myself.

**Angharad: **Skinner is going to have some fun with that magazine...hehehe

**Silent Bob 546: **Thankie thankie. The Victorian Era wasn't known for it's equality as far as women were concerned. Someone strong like Mina scares the pants off the men. Serves them right! LOL.

**Clez: **Cancel your appointment to the mental ward. It's here. Now lets update some of yours so I'm not making one for myself!

**Mellaithwen: **I'm badly addicted to placing my Tom in danger... Thank you.

**Samyo: **Thank you, and by the way, I've read this really great story by someone named Samyo recently.

**LotRseer3350: **A belated Happy Birthday to you! I'm honored you would find my update a wanted birthday surprise! Thank you!

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CHAPTER 17

As he poured through the clippings, Allan felt his bond with the young man in the bed strengthening even more. It was almost like looking into the mirror at his own past, but he was much older than Sawyer until he had his big adventures. When he reached the articles about Tom and his friends being abducted by a mad genius in a flying machine, the adventurer soaked in each detail with wonder and admiration. Sawyer truly was a thrill seeker, and the fact the lad insisted they fly on instead of going home after the inventor fell overboard only cemented that fact. One section of the lengthy piece amazed him beyond the rest.

"You were in Africa?" Quatermain asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. A faded memory surfaced, almost causing the old hunter to jump in it's clarity. Tom's balloon ride had taken place around the time he was leading an expedition of scientists... Allan's mouth opened, but he found he couldn't utter a word. One of the scientists had sworn he saw some kind of '_flying object_' in the distance. It was dismissed as heat exhaustion at the time, but could it have actually been Sawyer and his friends? Had their paths almost crossed in the not too distant past?

The more he read, the more he found he and Sawyer had in common. Nemo was right again...they were kindred spirits. It had struck him as odd how he trusted the young spy after that one, brash wink from the balcony, never giving it much thought as to why. He only knew he felt compelled to bring the American onboard, maybe it was to protect him like Nemo suggested, but there was an instant connection with Tom.

Glancing back down at the book, Quatermain shook his head in disbelief while giving Sawyer's blonde mane a fatherly stroke. The motion caused his arm to ache briefly in the area Dr. Monde had placed the needle to draw the blood for Tom's transfusion. Another profound thought hit the adventurer between the eyes. Not only did they share a love for adventure and enjoyed a strong bond, but now they were connected by blood as well.

A fierce determination overtook the inner guilt as Allan swore silently in his mind that no matter what it took, he would somehow make up his past failings and do better by this young man. It was an unbreakable vow spoken in his own blood.

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The coach driver's brows raised in surprise as he felt the passenger enter the cab. Malloy's agitated movements caused the rig to rock back and forth more than usual, and when it was followed by a bellowed order to the recited address, the driver felt almost sorry for the occupant of that place. Flicking his reins, the man urged the horse to move forward.

Inside the carriage, Malloy fumed. How could he have been outsmarted? They knew the exact date the League was supposed to meet with the President. Hell, for past several days he knew Quatermain was alive, a fact both he and Whitcomb agreed not to tell Agent Sawyer, knowing the spy would want to search the adventurer out.

Damn that Teddy Roosevelt for interfering in Secret Service affairs! If it wasn't for him, Agent Sawyer never would have left American soil. Now this League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was snooping in their backyard. Clenching his fist tightly, Malloy tried to calm himself. He would have to keep a clear head if he hoped to stop Quatermain from snatching Agent Sawyer.

A smirk formed. If the League did try to take Sawyer without government permission, it would give him the right to shoot on sight every last one of those freaks. His mood lessening a bit, Malloy comforted himself with that thought. He'd get them one way or another.

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Jekyll was awakened from his restless slumber by the unmistakable sound of raised voices outside. Throwing off the afghan he had wrapped around him, the doctor rose from the couch and peered out a nearby window.

"Oh no," he muttered in alarm when he saw a powerfully built man screaming at one of Nemo's men. The intruder was waving a badge of some sort in front of the Indian crewman, and Henry felt his nerves tingling. This obviously was one of the '_officials_' they had been dreading.

"Who's yelling?" Rodney asked irritably. He had just begun to read the magazine of Sawyer's when the commotion outside broke out.

"Maybe you should sneak out there and find out, while I alert Allan," the medical man suggested. "He has a badge, so he could be from law enforcement or maybe Secret Service."

"I think he'll be telling us himself," the invisible man muttered. "Better get Allan now."

Nodding, Jekyll hurried to Tom's bedroom as Skinner watched the newcomer push himself past the smaller built guard. Nemo's crewman tried to stop the intruder, but short of shooting the man, there was nothing he could do. The lawn quickly became littered with armed members of the Nautilus crew as they surrounded the stranger.

The intruder lifted a wallet up in the air, the moonlight shining on some sort of badge. Instantly the crewmen lowered their weapons. Nemo had given specific instructions about someone like this man. They were not to engage unless Sawyer was being physically removed.

Skinner shook his invisible head. "Yep, Secret Service."

A thunderous banging began on Sawyer's front door, causing the wall hangings in the living room to jump in unison. Senior agent Malloy's voice boomed even louder than his fist, demanding immediate entry or the occupants would face serious repercussions.

The invisible man glanced behind anxiously towards Tom's room for any sign of help. What was taking Quatermain so long? Where was Jekyll? The pounding continued, and Skinner began to fear the agitated man outside could easily bring the house down around their heads. The only way he was letting this Malloy in was to knock him out and drag him inside, but he wasn't about to try that on his own.

Quatermain stormed out of Sawyer's room, his features colder than Rodney had ever seen them. Instantly the former thief became calm. Whoever this bloke was, he had met his match in Allan Quatermain!

"That's enough!" Allan called out. As soon as the pounding stopped, the hunter finally unlocked the door and turned the door handle, eyeing the man on the other side with contempt.

"It's about time!" Malloy grunted, sending a searing look Quatermain's way. "Inform Agent Sawyer he is to present himself immediately."

Allan sent the slightly smaller man a threatening look. "Who the hell are you to be telling the lad that?"

"I'm his superior, Special Agent Patrick Malloy, the head supervisor of the Secret Service." The senior spy flipped out his badge, and thrusted it close to the adventurer's face.

Smacking the younger man's hand away, Allan puffed out his chest with an authoritative air. "And I'm..."

"I know who you are," Malloy said in disgust, "and I don't give a damn. You're in America now, Mr. Quatermain, and your '_stories_' mean nothing here. If my agent doesn't materialize, I will willingly place you and whoever else under arrest."

Bristling at the abrasive head spy, Allan's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm here representing the interests of the Crown," he shot back.

"I still don't give a damn." Without any sign of fear, Malloy stepped up closer till he was only inches from the seasoned explorer's face. "We threw off the shackles of the Crown years ago. Are you the Queen's lap dog now?"

Rodney watched with amusement as the two men glowered at each other in silence, like ancient gladiators preparing for a duel to the death. Ambling into the kitchen, the invisible man poured himself a steaming hot mug of coffee off the stove, and settled back to view the brewing battle.

"Where is Agent Sawyer?" Malloy demanded through gritted teeth.

"He's safe," Quatermain growled, his hazel eyes burning angrily. "A lot bloody safer than under your care..."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the Secret Service supervisor snapped.

Placing his arms behind him, Allan rocked back once on his boot heels. "I know all about the spies disappearing," he said in an accusing tone. "Quite a few missing from this part of the woods as well." The small bit of information would knock the rude bugger down a peg or two.

Malloy fell temporarily speechless. Damn it all! They were here to snoop around. "This is official government business, and we don't need you or your freak show meddling in our affairs! Where is my agent?"

"And I told you he was perfectly safe, no thanks to you and your fellow bureaucrats," the hunter almost snarled. "I'll keep him protected."

"Oh really?" Malloy rolled his eyes mockingly. "You did such a fine job back at M's castle, I've heard. Is Agent Sawyer's throat nearly being sliced open part of your security?"

"**You bloody bastard**!" Allan roared. "**I gave my life to protect that boy**!"

"**You should! You never should have allowed him into the League**!"

"Your government sent him!"

"Over my wishes!"

Quatermain grinned. "Shows what you know, you stupid bugger!"

His teeth bared in fury, Malloy pushed the adventurer back an inch. **"If you do not tell me immediately where Agent Sawyer is...I will have the entire United States army here in a matter of minutes, and you and your freaks will be led away in chains!"**

Allan pushed Malloy back. "**And if you try to follow through with that threat...I'll shove my boot so far up your arse...you'll walk on tip toes the rest of your life!"**

"Gentlemen...please!" Henry said in a hushed, yet urgent tone as he closed the door to Sawyer's bedroom behind him. "Don't forget someone is resting."

"You want me to believe Agent Sawyer hasn't even stirred?" the senior spy snapped. "What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"I'm Dr. Henry Jekyll," the medical man introduced, holding his hand out for Malloy to shake. When the agent rebuffed the gesture with a glare, Henry cleared his throat to steady Hyde's inner demands to show the snobby American some manners.

"You're that quack doctor?"

Quelling his own urge to brow beat the uncouth man before him, Jekyll chose to allow an unfelt, but polite smile to grace his features. "I think we might've gotten off to a bad footing, Mr...?"

"Spare me the small talk," Malloy said with an irritated huff. "If you don't want to get Agent Sawyer...I'll get him myself!" He began to push past the two League members, but his motion was halted abruptly when Quatermain pressed a hand on the supervisor's chest.

"Dr. Jekyll said he's resting, and you are not disturbing him," the hunter snarled.

Malloy stared vehemently between Jekyll and Quatermain. Something wasn't right. After the chewing out Sawyer received over the journal and Dorian Gray, Malloy knew the young agent wouldn't dare cross the Agency again by hiding behind Quatermain and the others.

"If you return Agent Sawyer immediately, I will give you my word not to go for the highest penalty possible for kidnaping," Malloy offered in a less than agreeable tone.

"Hey now! We didn't pinch nobody!" Skinner cried out in alarm. "Tom was hurt, we had to stop the bleeding...."

"What the hell?" Malloy jumped once, his heart thumping from the scare. Where had that voice come from? There was no one else in the room. His mind began to quickly recall one of the '_missing_' members. "You have to be that sneaky thief Skinner."

A cup rose up from a saucer, the brown liquid spilling down in single file as if it was being spilled by some supernatural force. "I was starting to feel a bit left out," the invisible man dead panned. "I may have picked up a few trinkety things here and there in my career, but I ain't never took no one. You should be asking the blokes who were trying to grab Tom instead of hassling us."

"Talk about it to someone who actually wants to hear it!" Malloy threw his churlish features Dr. Jekyll's way. "Is it true? Is Sawyer hurt?"

"Yes," Jekyll replied calmly, "but he's recuperating right now. Some unknown group of men were trying to abduct Sawyer, and he was shot in the leg. Thanks to the blood transfusion..."

"Blood transfusion? **Blood transfusion! Why the hell isn't he in a hospital?" **The supervisor once again tried to bully himself past Quatermain and Dr. Jekyll. "**Get out of my way!"**

"I assure you he's fine!" Henry tried to reason with the furious man. "I also had the help of Nemo's personal physician, Dr. Monde. He's one of the best surgeons in the world." At that moment the medical man wished he hadn't sent Monde and his assistants back to the Nautilus. Another professional opinion would help bolster his case, but Jekyll doubted anything or anyone could deter the man before him. Whoever this stranger was, it was very obvious he came here expecting a fight from the League, and was doing everything in his power to get it.

Hyde's inner rants fueled Henry's own growing fury over the man's refusal to listen. Suddenly Quatermain's point made back on Nautilus hit home with the handsome doctor. They were Sawyer's last defense. Straightening, Jekyll fixed the irritating official with a look that mirrored the determined glare Allan was giving.

No one was taking Sawyer!

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Where was that comforting touch?

Sawyer's head tossed to the side, his mind trying to find the soothing motions that had kept him from totally succumbing to the dark void that wanted him to give in. He had a reason to keep fighting. A new hope of being able to fix what he had so tragically messed up back in Mongolia.

But why? Where had it come from? More importantly, from whom?

There had been a voice attached to that physical feeling of someone caring for him. Tom recalled Aunt Polly comforting him in a similar way when he was younger, but this voice was definitely male. Struggling through a jumbled mass of confusing images playing through his head, the blonde agent tried to remember the source of his salvation.

The young man tried slowly to move, his right leg sending a searing pain that caused him to gasp, and jar his fuzzy memory.

The park!

He had been shot...surrounded and outnumbered by men on motorized bicycles. Someone else was there...helping him.

Hazel eyes opened with the realization. The stranger had on the same type of clothes as Allan wore...had the modified Winchester rifle as well....

Then there was that unmistakable voice talking to him...assuring him he was safe.

But...Allan was dead. Wasn't he?

Skinner's comment at Allan's grave came into the agent's mind. _"Remember he swore Africa wouldn't let him die? I wish the old boy had been right."_

Had Allan somehow cheated death? Dorian Gray was back, so why not Quatermain?

Tom tried once again to move, this time focusing on the blankets tucked snugly around him. It was no use. He was wrapped up as tight as a mummy's corpse, and in his weakened condition, they weren't budging. Dammit! He had to know! Was it a cruel delusion? Did he mistake a stranger for Allan in his time of need?

Raised voices assaulted Tom's hearing. Recognizing Jekyll's, the blonde's hope rose further. The League! If the they were here, could that possibly mean Allan was too?

Straining to listen, he also made out Skinner's voice. There was someone else too.... A sense of dread filled Sawyer's heart.

No! Malloy...no, not him! The League would surely be kicked out of the country, maybe even worse!

If Allan was here, he had to know for certain, and tell his father figure how sorry he was for everything. The voices outside his door rose dramatically, causing a wave of panic through the young man. If Malloy got mad enough, he would have the League arrested, and Tom knew he'd never see Allan or the others again. He had to speak with Quatermain, even if it was only for a minute.

Desperation began to take hold of the young spy as he tried to lift more than just his hand from the mattress, but he was too weak, and his parched throat wouldn't be of any use either. Tears of frustration began to form. How could he alert anyone?

Swiveling his head to the right, he noticed a pitcher of water and a glass, teasing him with their nearness. A drink would revive his dry vocal chords enough to attempt a call for assistance, but he couldn't manage to lift his arm up off the bed. His hand bumped up against something solid to the left of him, and Tom noticed the open scrap book of his adventures. That would make a noise if it hit the ground....

Using all his concentration, he lifted his left hand up and over repeatedly, slowly shoving the large book to the edge of the bed. When it finally slipped off the blankets and made a loud thunking sound, Tom could've cried from sheer relief. Surely someone would hear that!

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"**I will see Agent Sawyer...now!**"

"Please! Keep your voice down," Jekyll ordered. "You could upset Tom, and that is the last thing he needs right now. He came very close to dying...."

"Only because you bastards wouldn't take him to a proper hospital!" Malloy snapped coldly. "Do you even fathom what trouble I can cause for you? Sawyer belongs to the Federal government...he's not some average person you come to visit or take on travels!"

Quatermain's fists began to clench, his anger beyond the boiling point. He was tired of talking, and he knew of only one way to shut this bugger's mouth. While Malloy was occupied briefly with Jekyll, the hunter drew back his right fist discreetly, prepared to knock the obnoxious official to the ground senseless.

A sound coming from Tom's room hit Quatermain's hearing. "The boy!" he gasped in alarm, instantly turning. Jekyll and Malloy both stopped their discourse, having heard the noise as well.

Reaching out his hand, the doctor halted Allan's dash to Sawyer's room. "I'll go in first, remember our deal...."

Before Quatermain could protest, Malloy pushed his way through, only to be tripped up inches from the door by Skinner's invisible foot.

"You sure ain't going in," Rodney jeered, being quickly backed up by Allan as Jekyll hurried inside the spy's room.

As soon as Henry entered, Sawyer turned his head in the direction of the pitcher of water, his eyes pleading. Understanding immediately what his teammate was wanting, Jekyll gently placed his hand under Tom's head, lifting the youth slowly upward. Within seconds, the soothing, cool liquid was speeding down the blonde spy's throat.

"Take it easy," Jekyll smiled in relief as Tom drank greedily.

"Allan...," Tom struggled to say.

"Relax first, Tom." the doctor said calmly, lowering his patient back down on the bed. "I need to check you over."

"Jekyll...please...," Sawyer begged in a hoarse whisper, his strength fading. "Is he? Is he...alive?"

Normally he would have forbade Allan's presence until he was sure Sawyer was able to cope with the actuality of the hunter's return, but he also understood the agent's plea. For two months Tom had carried the grief and burden of Quatermain's death on his shoulders. It would be crueler to deny the young American his peace of mind.

"Yes, he's right outside the door. I'll get him for you," Henry relented, returning the weak smile Tom gave him in gratitude.

"No need to bother," Allan announced, his face flushed as he abruptly opened the bedroom door. His eyes twinkled when he gazed down at Sawyer's astonished face. "I'm right here," he spoke warmly, retaking his seat beside his protege's bed.

Jekyll was about to ask about Malloy, but the prone and unconscious figure of the Secret Service supervisor outside the door gave him his answer. So much for diplomacy!

Moisture began to blur Tom's vision when he felt the adventurer's hand on top of his head. It had been Allan who was coaxing him back. He was truly alive! Self-consciously Sawyer tried to hold the show of emotion at bay, instead focusing on his apology to the man who had to suffer in his place.

"I'm...I'm so sorry," Sawyer choked out, his eyes growing heavy.

Watching his surrogate son struggling to stay awake, Allan shook his head. "Lad, you did nothing wrong," the older man spoke in a hushed tone. "We went into that castle not knowing exactly what we were up against, and I don't ever want you feeling responsible for what happened with M. You handled yourself with a courage and skill that went beyond what most men would have done. I was proud to have you fight beside me, don't ever doubt that."

"I-I let my guard down...with Reed...."

"No, son. You were only caring about a teammate, and there's no weakness in that." Quatermain grinned down at Tom's face, giving the top of the blonde head a small tap. "You just close your eyes and rest. I'll stay right here."

Tom's drooping eyelids finally closed, but there was one more thing he had to know. "Malloy-he...?"

"Oh, he won't be any trouble," Quatermain huffed lightly. "I made him see my point."

Finally giving into his body's demand for sleep, Sawyer let out a soft sigh, satisfied he would indeed see Allan when he wakened.


	18. chapter 18

**Please forgive my tardinessin posting! My job seems to think I want to live there or something. Nuh uh!**

_**First off, thank you to the wonderful Ten for checking this puppy out! Her input is invaluable!**_

**Redneck Rampage: **Thanks! Hope you like this chapter as well.

**J-Dawg: **Thank you very much!

**Faust: **Mr. Q would more than love to have that honor himself! LOL

**LXGFanGirl: **Thanks! And it's perfectly fine you waited to review. I'm just happy you did!

**liberator of captured angst: **Hey, I gotta give sweet Tom a hard time! LOL. Oh, and Tom the bodyguard is pure heaven. I highly reccommend it! Make up some death threats of your own...he don't need to know...he just needs to stand there and be perfect.

**Lisel: **Thanks for you wonderful words as always. Hope you like the mushy in this too...though not as much as the other chapter though.

**Samyo: **Mina shows up here. She'll be joining the League soon.

**Xanthia Morgan: **Sorry this is so late in coming. Better late than never huh? Oh, more Malloy bashing down the road.

**Silent Bob 546: **I'm writing a lot of Jekyll for a gal pal of mine, but I like all the characters anyway...wink wink.

**LotRseer3350: **I want to get to the action too, trust me! LOL. There'll be plenty once Tom is on the mend!

**Mellaithwen: **Thank you ever so much!

**Queerquail: **Naw, you're not weird. I see Malloy/Quatermain as an older version of Tom/Dorian. They are opposites and don't have any qualms about expressing themselves!

**Kid Vicious Clone: **Thanks! I think what you said was highly intelligent...LOL.

**Sabrina: **Thank you! I want to read more Quatermain alive fics as well. It's not the same without him.

**Clez: **Howdy gal! Miss chatting with you, but my stupid job...grrrrrr...you know the drill! Great to have your opinion since it means so much since I love your stories so! Whew! That was a keyboard full!

**HauntedEyes8: **I'm blushing! Hope this chapter lives up to the others! Thank you!

**Final Spirit: **Thanks! I think Tom is both cool and hot! LOL.

**Meraculas: **Thank you!

**Kingleby: **Great hearing from you, and don't apologize. I'm just happy for one review, but thank you for the extras...wink wink!

**Quill Her Solitude Darkness: **Thank you!Yes, I do thinkDorian is hot..hehee. He'll be showing back up soon.

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CHAPTER 18

Dr. Jekyll sighed heavily as he chipped away at a small block of ice inside the ice box. After he and Skinner carried the unconscious intruder to the couch, Henry set about to make an ice pack to place on the swelling at the base of the man's jaw. Quatermain may have single-handedly destroyed relations between America and Britain with this one stupid punch.

"_Why are you so hard on the old codger?" _Hyde growled from the depths of Henry's mind. _"We both know you wanted to do the same thing to the bastard. Only Quatermain had the fortitude to carry through."_

"Whoever this man is, he's obviously someone important," Jekyll whispered back. "He knew Tom was an agent..." A sinking feeling hit the doctor in the gut, his mind recalling a conversation with Aimee O'Brien. She had mentioned that Sawyer had two bosses, and one wasn't very pleasant. What was his name?

"Skinner," the medical man asked, pointing to the unconscious man on the sofa, "do you know who this is?"

"Said he was Tom's superior, Patrick Malloy," Rodney answered. "He'd give Allan a go on his worst day."

A dull pain began to throb behind Jekyll's right temple. If they had any hopes of convincing the Secret Service to let Tom join them, they were now blown to Hell, making Allan's cockamamie scheme of kidnaping Sawyer a step closer to reality. Another unsettling feeling overcame him as he remembered something else the O'Brien woman said.

Dorian Gray was still alive and in Washington D.C...

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Glancing idly out of his lattice style windows, Campion Bond sipped at his tea, thankful to have something else to occupy his mind. Ever since this flare business started, the portly master spy had little sleep. It was true he has rested a bit easier since The League had taken control of the case, but he didn't like having the fate of the world rest in their hands.

He had been dead set against their forming, but the cunning M had talked everyone from Parliament on down into signing on. A small laugh came out at the thought of his former boss. The great M was none other than Professor James Moriarty himself. He recalled the great relish he felt when all of M's supporters found out they had been duped all along. Their 'savior' was nothing but a criminal, responsible for some of the most heinous crimes committed against Britain.

Despite everything, the League was retained, and now it was his duty to deal with them. A shudder ran through the thick frame. The thought of some of their capabilities was frightening, but still, he would rather have them on their side, and somewhat contained, than to be let loose on normal society.

Quatermain he didn't mind, or even Nemo, with his past hatred of anything British. The invisible spy Skinner was a wild card. He may have been a valuable asset during the first mission, but Bond held no illusions that he could turn on the drop of a pin if it served the rogue's purpose.

Dr. Jekyll made him nervous just watching the man twitch. And the pocket watch fixation drove Bond insane after repeatedly hearing the watch case open and close during their meetings. If this bundle of jitters was the only thing keeping that monstrous Hyde at bay...God help them all!

This Agent Sawyer the League was so keen on re-acquiring was unknown to him, but from what Bond could glean from the files obtained from the Secret Service, he would definitely prove to be a handful. The master spy rolled his dark eyes. Young, reckless, and insubordinate was all he needed. At least he didn't have any '_powers_'. Quatermain should be able to keep the rapscallion under control easily enough.

Bond's thoughts drifted to whom he considered the most powerful of the group. Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker not only had super human strength, she had the ability to fly short distances, to call upon bats to help do her bidding, and the most frightening aspect; able to drain the life from any person she so chose.

"Mr. Bond!"

The master spy dropped his porcelain tea cup in surprise at both the intrusion and the urgency of the female voice. Bond steadied himself as he turned to look into the determined face of Mina Harker.

"I would truly appreciate it if you would announce your arrival at least by knocking," Bond recovered, picking up his bell to ring for someone to clean up the mess. "These tea cups are rather expensive."

Mina said nothing, instead settling herself in a chair across from Bond's desk. She held her tongue as the secretary hurried in and cleaned the floor. A bit of anger rose in the female vampire as she watched this poor woman do _'his' _menial labor. Would the sexual injustices ever be addressed in this repressed time?

Once his secretary had finished and left the office, Bond turned his full attention to the attractive intruder. "Did you find out anything?"

"We are dealing with something that's not human," Mina replied solemnly, "or even earthly."

A chuckle left the hefty frame of the spy. "Are you saying we're being invaded by an alien culture like those ridiculous tabloids are suggesting?" He poured himself another cup of tea from the tea set. "Would like a spot, Mrs. Harker?"

"No, thank you," she responded icily. "This is serious!"

The smile immediately left Bond's face as he stirred in some sugar. "I know it's serious, Mrs. Harker. How can you be so sure that whatever is committing the abductions is not earthly?"

"I've met one face to face."

"You did?" Bond raised his cup to his lips and took a small sip before continuing. "Where did you encounter this '_being_'?"

Irritated by his lack of concern, Mina huffed. "Would you be so dismissive if it were Mr. Quatermain in front of you? They are no longer only after agents. I rescued an Italian soldier several nights ago in Treviso. Is that a bit of tabloid silliness as well?"

The aloof manner Bond had been displaying totally disappeared. Had the stakes gone up even higher? "Are you positive it was a soldier?"

"Yes, and this craft was hovering well above the ground, chasing him."

"This '_craft_' was flying?" Though he tried to hide the dismay in his voice, the vampiress picked up on it immediately.

"You know, don't you?" she accused bitterly, leaning closer in her chair.

Clearing his throat and groping for the right words to soothe the irritated female, Bond quickly took another sip of tea. "We had received reports...,"

"But you obviously believed them about as much as you have believed me," Mina huffed in disgust. "I saw it, Mr. Bond. It was oval shaped, with a brilliant display of multi-colored lights. And it was most definitely flying."

"Did it look like one of those German zephyrs?" Bond queried, testing the woman to see if it matched what little information the British government had.

"No, it didn't appear to be supported by any type of helium device. It was hovering like a bird does in the wind."

Damn it all...it did match! Bond trepidly took another swallow of tea. "And you said you met one of the occupants face to face?"

"Yes. It was somewhat human in appearance, but it's skin, head and facial features were rather exaggerated and revolting." A faint shudder ran through Mina's slender frame at the recollection.

"Did it give a name or why it was here?"

"No, he didn't give a name, but left the impression that they would soon be invading."

"You said 'he'," Bond pointed out. "How do you know that?"

Blushing, Mina decided not to dwell on the lack of genitalia, instead focusing on the deep, authoritative voice it possessed. If she was irritated at the portly spy moments ago, her rankles raised even higher at Bond's next statement.

"Are you sure it wasn't some man dressed up to appear otherworldly? The odd appearance could have easily swayed your emotions to believe the impossible."

Her eyes turning red for a split second, the auburn haired beauty reined in her fury. "I attacked the invader with enough force to break both my arms..." Noting the spy was glancing at her limbs with disbelief, Mina sighed impatiently. "I heal rapidly, Mr. Bond, one of those 'impossible' qualities I possess."

"So, you did manage to at least injure him?"

"No. He wasn't fazed in the least," Mina answered curtly. Seeing the portly face turn almost ashen in shade, the half-vampire continued in her blunt assessment. Bond had to understand the seriousness of the predicament facing them. "Even in full transformation, I could not even penetrate his skin with my fangs, and he tossed me aside like I was an insect."

"Dear god," Bond breathed in horror as another tea cup crashed to the hardwood floor.

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Allan rubbed his weary eyes after he closed the cover of Sawyer's scrapbook, continuing to be amazed by what had been collected inside it. His other hand still resting on top of the agent's blonde mop of hair, Quatermain shook his head and smiled to himself. From what he could glean from the articles, Sawyer had to be what...twenty years old now? No wonder there seemed to be no slowing of the boy's abundant energy.

A soft, popping sound coming from the direction of the fireplace drew the hunter's attention to it. The embers were beginning to die down, casting the room in a more somber tone. Fearful that his protege could catch a chill from the lowered temperature, Allan walked over and opened the grill, piling wood into the hearth to bathe the comfortable sized bedroom in a warming embrace.

Placing the last piece of wood upon the stack, Quatermain glanced down absently at his left hand, noticing the pinkish tinge that covered it. No matter how many times he scrubbed at his body, a faint trace of Sawyer's blood remained...just as it had with Harry. Even the new clothes Nemo had his men bring with them couldn't hide the smell of blood from his nostrils, or the pain and guilt of being saturated in it as you felt the victim's body slowly cool.

'_Bloody hell, I nearly lost this boy.'_ The realization hit the adventurer full force, and his gut tightened at the thought of Sawyer almost dying in his arms till he almost felt ill.

"Allan?"

The voice was weak, but the panic was evident. Allan rushed over to Sawyer's side, making shushing sounds while gently touching the right side of Tom's face to calm the upset youth as he observed Tom's eyes finally focusing on him.

"You're still here," Tom said with a relieved sigh. When he hadn't seen the adventurer in the immediate area, he had feared the worst, and did the first thing that came to him; cry out. Now the action seemed childish as Sawyer watched the older man's face crease with worry and remorse.

"I'm sorry, lad," Allan fumbled in response, "I was putting some wood in the fireplace..." Lifting Tom's head up, he retrieved the glass of water he recently filled and gave his protege some of the liquid. He wanted to be prepared for anything Sawyer might need of him.

Sawyer cast his gaze downward after taking a few sips. "Guess I'm still havin' a hard time believin' you're here." The young spy swallowed, and closed his eyes tightly. "After my friend Huck died, I would have these dreams where he would just waltz into a room as right as rain, but then I would wake up and he would still be gone." He glanced up silently at his father figure, hoping his explanation would ease things.

The adventurer gently squeezed Tom's blanketed arm. "I've had those kind of dreams too over the years, but you can believe this old man's resurrection."

"Was always taught the dead don't return," the young man joked weakly, "cept for cases in the Good Book." Sawyer's eyes grew wide in horror as an idea gripped his mind. "Aw no...we didn't...we didn't bury you alive did we?"

"No, son, to the average person I was dead," Allan hurried to soothe, watching the agitation rise in Tom's face. "The witch doctor knew exactly what he was doing when he arranged my burial. I would be able to release myself easily from my grave."

"Then you were brought back to life soon after the funeral?"

Allan cringed at the haunted tone in the young man's voice. "I despise myself for not telling you sooner, putting you through any doubts or anguish," he admitted with a heavy heart. "Everyone I grow fond of ends up getting hurt because of me..." With a grunt, the adventurer ran his hands over his weathered features in frustration.

"I thought I was the only one who thought that way," the American spy commented quietly. The two men shared a knowing glance, their similarities surpassing any age difference, nationality, or upbringing.

A sad smile came to Quatermain's mouth as he thought back to his many demises. "You aren't the first person I've surprised with my sudden appearance," he chose to respond. "Could you find it in you to forgive an old fool?"

"Always," the blonde agent smiled shyly, "on the condition you don't do that ever again." He paused, still unable to grasp the concept of Allan Quatermain sitting beside him alive. "Skinner said at the funeral that Africa wouldn't let you die," Sawyer remembered. "Are you like an immortal then?"

"I was blessed by a witch doctor after saving his village many years ago," the explorer said with a nod, "but the potion won't work on me forever." Allan paused, stunned that he had bared that secretive '_detail'_ so quickly. The only ones he entrusted with that information were his own son, and long time friends, Sir Henry Curtis, and Captain John Good.

Tom's eyes lit up in curiosity. "A potion? Like those kinds I've read about down in those Carribean Islands?" The blonde agent wrinkled his nose slightly as he tried to recall what it was called. "Zoodoo...no...hoodoo..."

"Voodoo. Yes, it's a bit like that." Quatermain's face became somewhat stern as he shook a finger in Sawyer's direction. "I think it's safe to say that this little bit of information won't go beyond the two of us."

"I won't betray your trust in me," Sawyer swore sincerely, inwardly beaming at the hunter's confidence in him.

Though his eyes were growing heavy, Sawyer refused to give in to his body's demand for healing sleep, his mind alive with multiple questions to barrage the hunter with. "Do you feel anythin'? Think or hear anythin' when you're under the spell?"

"It's a tad complicated," Quatermain hedged, not willing to get into how he could hear everything Sawyer had said to him back in the Nautilus' deep freezer, "and much too complicated to get into now, Thomas."

"It's Tom," the American said with a tiny yawn. "Wasn't called Thomas unless I was in trouble."

The response brought out a chuckle from the older man as he tapped on the book lying in front of him. "When haven't you been?"

"You were lookin' through my scrapbook," Tom muttered with a bit of chagrin. "Forgot all about it bein' on the bed when I first woke up."

"Quite entertaining reading," Allan smiled. "Certainly had me impressed."

"You? Impressed by me?" Sawyer uttered in amazement. "After all those adventures I've read about you havin', I figure mine would be nothin'."

"You've read about me?"

A big grin enveloped Tom's mouth. "Every issue I could get my hands on! Knew a man who sailed the river back home, and he would bring me your adventure magazines after he came back from visitin' his kin in England."

The smile that had been on Quatermain's face fell. Not those damnable magazines! Would he ever be free of those tawdry pieces of fiction? Looking down into the young man's, tired, but still eager face, he let his standard rebukes of the author's treachery go unsaid for the moment. The boy would have to be set straight, but knowing Sawyer, a simple statement of 'those stories are pieces of rubbish' wouldn't suffice. They would have plenty of time to sort through the various grievances he held.

And if he ever found out whoever the hell this H. Rider Haggard really was...

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Handing his hastily scribbled note to one of Nemo's crewmen, Henry also placed the photo taken of the remaining League members into the man's hand. "This should expel any doubts," the doctor said in explanation as he sent the messenger on his way.

At least he had fulfilled his promise to the O'Brien's. They would now know Tom was safe. He wasn't sure if he should get into the details of the young man's '_condition_', for his only goal was to ease a woman's motherly concern. In the end he opted to leave that little bit of information out for now.

Hearing a wicked sounding snicker coming from the general area he thought Skinner to be, Jekyll called out to his invisible teammate. A floating magazine gave him a target to address his query.

"What are you so chipper about?" he chastised, amazed someone could find any humor in this dire situation. Tom had been attacked, nearly killed, and his argumentative supervisor was lying unconscious on the couch by a punch Quatermain had stupidly thrown. There was also the added detail of Dorian Gray's possible return from the dead; a subject Henry dreaded telling the hunter.

"It's this magazine I found in Sawyer's chest at the end of his bed," the rogue answered without a bit of guilt in his voice.

The proper doctor was horrified, while Hyde howled in laughter inside his head. "You were snooping in Tom's personal belongings? You're damn lucky Allan didn't catch you at it!"

"Hell, he was doing a bit of pinching of his own," Rodney shot back. "He was reading a big scrapbook that I knew Tom didn't give him."

A brown eyebrow rose in curiosity. "A scrapbook you say? Did you see what was in it?"

"Articles about our resident American," Skinner answered with a chuckle. "Quite a character that one was growing up."

A smile lit up the doctor's face. He could easily seeing Sawyer being a handful. In a way he still was. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his prized timepiece. "I should be checking up on Tom. I've let Allan sit with him for almost two hours."

"Thanks for the warning!" the invisible rogue exclaimed, quickly hiding his magazine under a chair cushion. It was way too soon to spring his little surprise on Quatermain. The old boy was probably going to kill him, but the anticipated reactions he imagined the hunter giving him would be worth it.

Henry glanced over at the unmoving Malloy on the couch. "Besides, our guest should be rousing soon, and Quatermain should be the one to deal with him, since he is the one who did it after all."

"He won't leave the kid's side."

"If he doesn't want all Hell breaking loose, he will." Turning towards Tom's room, Jekyll steadied himself for a possible sticky situation. It was true, Allan wouldn't willingly leave Sawyer's bedside, and it would have to be put delicately about Malloy, so not to upset the patient. Still, the problem had to be dealt with.

Opening up the door to Tom's bedroom, the doctor gave a nod of acknowledgment to the two men inside. "You haven't been up all this time, have you, Tom?"

"No, the lad slept a little in between," Allan answered, patting his protege on the shoulder, "but I think he should quit fighting it and rest some more."

"I'll make my check-up brief so he can do just that," Jekyll said with a faint grin, making a shooing gesture towards Quatermain. "Why don't you wait outside..."

"No." The tone was final, and the explorer crossed his arms across his chest to further enhance his reply.

"It won't take long..."

"Then there's no need to make my seat cold by moving," Quatermain huffed. Hearing the slightly irritated sigh Dr. Jekyll gave, the adventurer glared up at his teammate. "What is it, man?"

"I would only like some courtesy shown me," Henry replied evenly, "to properly inspect my patient."

"I won't interfere," Allan vowed. "Besides, it can't be as detailed as when you fixed the boy up."

"How bad is it?" Sawyer asked. All he had cared about since regaining consciousness was knowing if Allan was truly alive. "I remember the bullet hitting my thigh."

"You gave us quite a fright," Quatermain said with a frown. "All that matters is that you're alright and safe now."

"He's right," Jekyll backed up the League's leader. "You'll be as good as new in about a month if you behave." He came around to the other side of Tom's bed and pulled out a stethoscope from his vest pocket. Telling the spy to close his eyes and relax, Henry used his own eyes to signal Quatermain, turning both his blue orbs towards the doorway.

Seeing the eye movement, the hunter gave one of his own, the brows furrowing in defiance. He wasn't budging.

Jekyll's eyes rolled upwards. Surely the man hadn't forgotten about how he left Malloy sprawled out on the floor.

Out in the living room, Skinner anxiously watched for Quatermain's arrival. Moments ago he heard a small groan coming from Malloy, and it would only be a matter of time before the Secret Service's director would be coming to...and be coming at someone.

The large body mass began to move groggily upon the couch, sending the invisible thief almost into a panic. Without thinking, Skinner plopped himself on top of the bigger man, hoping to somehow stall his rising.

"Oh, Allan?" Rodney called out in a sing-song voice, so not to alarm Tom. "I think now would be a good time to make an appearance, old chap."

Feeling something heavy on him, Malloy cursed under his breath as he tried to lift himself up. What in hell had happened? One minute he was going to see Agent Sawyer for himself, the next...

Allan Quatermain...that old geezer had thrown a sucker punch! Flying up from the couch in one hard push, Malloy sent Skinner falling to the floor with a thud.

"**Quatermain!" **Patrick Malloy bellowed in fury. "**Show yourself now!"**

Back inside Tom's room, Allan groaned in disgust. "I bloody forgot about that bastard." Remembering who he was making the comment in front of, the adventurer tried to smile reassuringly in Sawyer's direction. "I'll be right back, lad."

"You said he understood!" Tom cried out in dismay. His superior sounded furious...and when Malloy was mad... The young man's breathing became harder as he felt his chest tighten. No, he couldn't lose Allan now after getting him back... It wasn't fair!

Noting the spy's heartbeat was picking up, Jekyll sent Quatermain a pleading look. "Tom, it's okay. Settle down before you harm yourself. You're still too weak yet."

Quatermain rose from his chair. "Don't you fret about a thing, son." Before he could leave the room, Malloy barged in a bit unsteadily, his mouth falling open at the sight of his agent.

"Agent Sawyer?" Malloy spoke in a tone of shock. The vibrant young man he knew was now bundled in blankets and sheets, his countenance pale and very frail in appearance. "We have to get him to a hospital right away!"

"Sir, please...," Tom tried to speak, everything blurring in front of him. He knew if he left this room, he would never see his father figure or his friends again. Willing himself to move, the blonde agent tried to lunge towards Allan, his only goal to grasp onto the adventurer and not let go.

"His heart is beating too fast," Henry informed the two older men, his stethoscope still placed over the blonde's chest. "In his condition..." He stopped in horror as Tom suddenly moved out from underneath the instrument.

"He needs a hospital," Malloy reiterated, his voice dropping in volume.

"Thomas!" Allan cried out, feeling a cold hand wrap around his. Somehow the young spy had found the strength to reach out, but the explorer knew it was a dangerous move for Sawyer to make in his weakened physical state. The boy had been near death only hours ago.

Sawyer's eyes began to turn upwards, his hold on consciousness fading quickly. "Don't want...to...leave...," he struggled to say before falling slack upon the mattress.

"Stay with me, boy," Allan demanded, grabbing a hold of Sawyer's face between his huge hands. "I'm not losing you!"

Just as he had done back at the park, Quatermain's thumbs moved back and forth on Tom's cheeks, his rich voice repeating over and over that everything was fine. Even Malloy fell silent, allowing the older man to continue without interruption.

"His heart rate is too rapid!" Henry warned. "It won't be able to keep up due to all the blood he's lost and the trauma to his system."

"He's okay isn't he?" Rodney asked worriedly from the doorway. He met the mirroring glances of the others and swallowed hard.

They weren't going to lose Tom after all...were they?


	19. chapter 19

**Hello! And so sorry for the delay. Had a lot of personal things happen recently.**

**I normally take this space to thank everyone who reviewed, and I do appreciate so much all who did. Thank you all! I also want to thank Ten Mara for checking this out for me and her suggestions.**

**But I want to thank and dedicate this chapter to my beloved cat of 13 years. I miss you so much baby girl.**

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CHAPTER 19

Slinking through some heavy shrubbery lining the immediate area of Sawyer's residence, Dorian Gray watched warily in secret, his body tense as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him. The small lawns of the spy's home were littered with men in the familiar uniforms of Nemo's crew. A satisfied smile formed. The League was here then.

His annoying little charge should be pleased with that development. The thought brought his attention back to his true purpose here. What had happened to the American? Was he still being held back at the Department of the Treasury building? Or was he basking in the glow of a reunion of his former teammates inside the house?

Teammates...

They had been the immortal's too at one time. He was trusted by everyone, and Skinner was the outcast. Dorian smirked inside at his cunning frame-up of the invisible thief, but was hit with another bout of pain. Glaring heavenward, Gray quickly abandoned his self kudos. The man he had so callously used to cover his own misdeeds would now be a deciding vote in his future.

Continuing his surveillance, the immortal scowled. No matter how hard he tried to figure around it, that irrepressible, American brat was his only hope. It was getting old having to hide himself from view, waiting on the spy to finally help him out. He wanted to get this part of his penance over with, and be rid of Sawyer and the League forever.

A small bonfire being started in the backyard caught Dorian's attention. They were burning something at this time of night? It was a bit chilly, but Nemo's men were properly attired. What need would they have with a fire? A familiar garment was lifted in the air above the flames, causing Gray's eyes to widen. It looked like the shirt Sawyer had been wearing, but as the moonlight hit the light-colored fabric, he discovered there was something else on it...something dark and reddish in tint. Even a few of Nemo's crewmen were pointing to the discoloring, shaking their heads sadly.

No, that couldn't be! Why would Sawyer have blood on his shirt? Was it serious? Gray calmed himself. He was still here, so the whelp couldn't have gotten himself mortally wounded, yet the immortal was still feeling that oppressive heat, like he was slowly sliding back into Hell. A pair of torn trousers were thrown into the fire next, giving the aristocrat another moment of worry, but when the beloved black duster met the same fate as the other pieces of clothing, it almost drove Dorian out of his hiding place. What in hell had happened? The rascal left his sight briefly, and now Sawyer's clothes were being burned?

The crewmen weren't done. Another set of clothes were being discarded into the fire, but these garments were bigger in size. A well worn, leather coat seemed familiar to the immortal, and he pondered on where he had seen it before. He knew that coat...

"Quatermain," Dorian breathed out in excitement. The hope sank as quickly as it came. Sawyer had said the old man died back at M's fortress, and there was a genuine look of remorse in the American's face at the retelling of the event. Yet, why was Quatermain's coat being thrown into the fire? If Sawyer had kept the garment after Mongolia, he wouldn't part with it willingly.

An idea hit Gray as his brown eyes settled upon the carriage he had seen Tom taken in back at the O'Brien's restaurant. Was that asinine Malloy here? Could he be responsible for Quatermain's coat being destroyed? Dorian dismissed the notion. No, Nemo wouldn't allow that to happen, and his men seemed to be doing it out of their free will.

Every inch of Dorian wanted to go right up to the front door and announce his presence, but the aristocrat knew he had to practice caution. If Malloy was there, it wouldn't be prudent for him to blatantly show the master spy he had escaped...though the man couldn't do anything to him. The act would only get Sawyer into more trouble, and that was what he couldn't afford, especially with the League within his reach.

Sighing in resignation, Gray inched away from Tom's home, settling instead for a cabin with a direct view. It appeared to be uninhabited at the moment, and would provide him the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on his youthful charge without being discovered. Easily picking the lock to the back door, the immortal headed straight for the bedroom, his body screaming for sleep.

As he pulled off the jacket to his once fine suit, Gray quickly glanced around the unassuming home. Whoever lived here was either a slovenly housekeeper or hadn't stepped foot in it for weeks. Vigorously shaking the bedding free of dust, Dorian finally settled himself on the mattress.

A snarl escaped Dorian's lips as he felt his eyelids close involuntarily. How he despised this forced change in his immortality. He should be spying on the agent, but his '_curse_' required rest, whether he wanted to or not. Seconds later, Dorian Gray was in a deep, unshakeable state of sleep, unaware of any potential foe who may stumble upon his slumbering form.

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"Tom's heart is slowing to a more normal state," Dr. Jekyll said in a relieved voice. "He'll be all right, but he won't be stirring any time soon."

Skinner let out a loud, relieved sigh. "Gah! Don't scare us anymore like that, kid!" The invisible man placed a hand to his own heart, feeling its rhythm calming. "I've had my quota of excitement for tonight, thank you."

Allan gently lowered Tom's head upon the pillows. "You rest and get stronger, lad," the hunter spoke quietly, replacing the wayward arm back under the safety and warmth of the blankets. "Everything is taken care of."

Malloy began to speak in protest again, but felt a pressure over his mouth, though he couldn't see what was causing it.

"Since you obviously can't tell," Rodney whispered into the irritated man's ear, "Tom needs his rest. What's wrong with you?"

Pocketing his stethoscope, Henry straightened, glaring harshly at Quatemain and Malloy, but his tone was smooth as silk. "Gentlemen, you will now leave this room until I say you can return."

Both men returned the glare, and were ready to challenge the order, but were silenced by a thin finger pointing in Sawyer's direction.

"Tom's unconscious, and won't notice your presence missing, but I blissfully will." Jekyll could hear Hyde encouraging him in the back of his mind, clearly enjoying the bit of backbone being shown by the otherwise meek doctor. "You two have issues to discuss, and I'll be damned if it'll happen in front of my patient. I think you've done enough to him for the moment." The words were harsh while the tone remained deceptively calm. "You can go outside and beat yourselves silly, I don't care. All I want is for Tom to heal in peace."

The two adversaries exchanged looks. Neither man was budging to give any hint of victory to the other despite their roles in what had just taken place.

"You two are impossible." The doctor tried his best to hide the exasperation in his voice. "I will count to three, then you can both leave...together. 1-2-3..."

Quatermain rose from his seat reluctantly, giving Sawyer a sad glance. Jekyll's earlier hints for him to leave were now echoing in his mind. It was so obvious in hindsight, but he couldn't leave the boy's side, not after all he had put him through. Yet, what had his stubborn pride put Sawyer through just minutes ago?

Silently the two men left Tom's bedroom, stopping at the front door. Quatermain took the lead, motioning for Malloy to follow him outside. He would be the bigger man for Sawyer's sake, and that young man was worth any concession of pride he had to offer up.

As they stepped out into the crisp, pre-dawn air, neither man said a word for several minutes, instead finding something else to focus their attention on as they walked to a more open area on the farthest side of Tom's property so not to be overheard. Malloy counted how many men Nemo actually had guarding the small home, while Quatermain watched the dying embers of a fire. Chiding himself for wasting time, the adventurer decided to get the ball rolling. He knew this man would prove to be a thorn in their side no matter what was said, but if he could get a semi-truce, the sooner he could get back to Sawyer's side.

"Before we start this discussion," Quatermain said brusquely, "you might as well get it out of your system."

"Are you referring to that sucker punch?" Malloy responded coldly.

"I prefer to think of it as a strategic placement of a fist," Allan shot back. "You would have gone down no matter when I threw it."

Malloy snorted, but his mouth held a tight smile. "Mr. Quatermain, I was a professional boxer before joining the Secret Service. Considered the best in the heavy-weight class, and undefeated...until now."

Quatermain pointed to his chin. "Would you like to demonstrate your abilities on me? I'm sure you've been dying to return the favor."

The supervisor of the Secret Service shook his head slowly. "No. I'd rather beat information out of you instead." Placing his muscular arms behind himself, Malloy looked Quatermain straight in the eyes. "I'm more than willing to do what it takes till I'm satisfied, so no playing around with the facts."

"Diplomatic bugger aren't you?" Allan said with a sarcastic chuckle.

"Never did care much for diplomacy. Either you say it or you don't. Anything else is a waste of my time." He stopped and gave a confident smirk. "And I'll let you know right now that Mr. Sawyer will be going nowhere with you or your 'group'. The time he spent with you was only for one purpose, and that requirement was met."

Quatermain shrugged and sighed impatiently. "Why don't we play nice till the lad is better, and let the ones who have the '_real_' authority decide if Sawyer's coming or staying."

Malloy grinned back. Sure, he could play nice for now, especially since it would keep in him contact with the League, alerting him to any tricks. He didn't trust this old man as far as he could throw him. Director Whitcomb had made very certain that the League's earlier attempts at securing the undercover agent were rebuffed soundly, and once they received their final refusal from the American government, Malloy knew Quatermain and his freaks would spring into another plan of action.

"I've told you what's going to happen," the master spy spoke in a dismissive tone, "so let's not linger any more on that. Let's focus instead on what happened tonight."

Scowling, Allan grunted once before answering. If he didn't need to keep his trump card a secret for the time being, he'd shove it in the idiot's face, and show him what was really going to happen! He'd be an accommodating chap for now to be able to stay near Sawyer without any trouble.

"Men dressed in uniforms similar to the Fantom's were trying to kidnap Sawyer," Allan informed the spy. "The contraptions they were riding on looked like motorized bicycles."

"Motorcycles?" Malloy frowned.

"You know what those blasted things are?"

"They were invented about ten years ago by a German man," the head agent supplied, "of course we know of '_contraptions_' such as that. We make it our business to know."

"Sent a spy in did you?" Allan asked with a tinge of disgust.

"If we did, he would have been working side by side with the British, Italian, and French ones," Malloy threw back. "How did Sawyer get shot?"

"The men at first came after the lad as a group, but when Sawyer started fighting back, they separated and tried to box him in. One bugger though climbed up a tree, and shot him in the thigh." Quatermain's eyes grew hot over the recollection of Tom's wounding, his mind vowing to destroy the mastermind behind the attempt. It damned near killed the boy!

"That would explain the blood loss," Malloy pondered out loud. His tone then turned biting as he addressed the renown adventurer. "I take it you came in to save the day after that? Whisked the injured young man to safety after handily disposing of his would-be abductors? Isn't that how your other adventures went?"

Bristling at the mention of his '_adventures_', the hunter let the jab die, choosing instead to defend his former protege. "Sawyer was doing a grand job of taking care of them all by himself until that dirty shot, and even then he kept fighting on."

His head snapping to attention, Malloy soaked in the adventurer's words. Did he hear right? Was Sawyer fighting off a gang of thugs by himself? "What the hell were you doing? Watching?" he accused, the Irish blood in him beginning to boil. "Why were you leaving it up to Sawyer to take the men out?"

"I was covering him the best I could, dammit!" Allan responded angrily. "They were armor plated from head to toe, and I also didn't want to throw Sawyer a nasty shock by suddenly '_showing_' up. I stayed out of the lad's way and kept the bastards from taking him!"

"Where did this battle take place?" Malloy asked through gritted teeth. He wanted to say he wished Quatermain had stayed out of America as well, but he held his tongue. At least Sawyer hadn't bled to death, which could have happened under the_ 'care'_ of his kidnappers, though he wasn't pleased at all with how the League handled it either.

"It happened at a park north from here." Quatermain's features hardened at his next words. "Awful handy for those bastards that Sawyer was out walking at that time of night."

"You listen here!" Malloy hissed. "If Sawyer had obeyed orders in the first place, he would have been at home in bed instead of being out and about in Mr. Gray's company! And I also supplied my agent a ride home, which he obviously declined."

"Mr. Gray? Who the hell is this Mr. Gray?" The saying of the name caused a deep uneasiness to form in the famous hunter's gut. No, he was just being absurd, it couldn't be that Gray. That back-stabbing _'immortal'_ was dead.

"You know him all too well..., a Mr. Dorian Gray," Malloy answered with disgust. "The arrogant ass wants to rejoin the League, and tried to use Sawyer to make it happen."

Allan was too shocked to be angry. "Sawyer was with him? Willingly?"

The master spy shrugged as he frowned in recollection. "He wasn't happy to be with the son of a bitch, that's for sure, but he wasn't being forced to stay either. Even shot Gray at point blank range in my office, but..."

"It didn't faze Gray in the least," Quatermain finished, his shock turning to fury. Was the aristocrat behind Sawyer's attempted abduction? And what was the boy thinking, being anywhere near Gray? The hunter eased his admonition towards his protege. Sawyer probably thought he could figure out the immortal's game, and stop him. The adventurer sighed inwardly. He and Sawyer were going to have a serious talk in the near future about the young American's penchant for rushing headlong into danger.

But he was still pissed as hell that Gray had survived. That was a fact that would have to be changed immediately.

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"Tom's going to be out a while, huh?" Skinner spoke, uneasy with the sudden quiet. Whoever had tried to take the agent meant business, and the invisible rogue couldn't help but wonder when the next attempt would come.

"Even with the blood transfusion, he's still very weak," Henry explained, his face turning pensive. After tinkering with the new bandage he had wrapped around Tom's wound, he spoke quietly as he covered up his patient. "We've walked into quite a situation, haven't we?"

The former thief let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Malloy being here puts a nasty ol' crimp in Allan's plan. Something tells me this bloke ain't leaving...or helping."

"Yet we can't abandon Tom either, not with those kidnappers and Gray running around."

"Gray? Did you say Gray?" Rodney blurted out in surprise. "He's dead! Ain't he?"

Dr. Jekyll shook his head slowly. "He was in Tom's company earlier in the evening, and from the description I received, there's no doubt Dorian Gray is back among the living."

"What? Tom hates Gray as much as the rest of us." The unseeable man couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. Mina was positive the immortal had died before her eyes.

"From what Mrs. O'Brien said, it wasn't a '_cozy_' meeting they had."

"Who's this Mrs. O'Brien?"

"Tom's scent took me to a small tavern not too far from here," the doctor replied. "It's owned by a couple called the O'Briens. They know Tom very well, and told me about him coming to their place with a gentlemen they didn't like at all."

"Hmph! The bastard seems to have that effect on everyone."

Jekyll found himself grinning at the comment, but the amusement quickly left his handsome features. "I'm going to have to tell Allan about this. The best route would be for Tom to tell him, but our young friend won't be up to doing much for a while."

Skinner suppressed a nervous shudder. "The old boy won't take that news well...from anyone."

"I know, that's why I should say something. If Gray is waiting out there to plan another attack, we should be prepared. It'll also save Tom the agitation of dealing with Quatermain's reaction. " The Victorian doctor sighed as he rubbed at his tired eyes. "Hopefully, by the time Sawyer is fully aware, Allan will had some time to calm himself, as it were."

After checking over his young patient one last time, Henry left the room, leaving Skinner behind to keep a secret watch over their teammate until Allan returned.

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"Mr. President?" a voice called urgently from behind the door.

President of the United States, William McKinley, forced himself awake, taking a quick glance at a nearby clock. He still had a few hours before he normally rose, but the elected leader got up promptly, knowing that something bad must have occurred. Taking great care not to disturb his invalid wife, McKinley wrapped a robe around himself and answered the door, ushering his aide further down the hall as he exited the bedroom.

"What is it, Perkins?" the President asked his employee.

"It's Mr. Masterson from the British consulate," the aide answered nervously. "He's insisting to see you immediately. There's also an odd looking gentleman with him who said he was Captain Nemo."

"Captain Nemo?" McKinley paused. The infamous captain was here at the White House? Where was Allan Quatermain? Why didn't they wait until the meeting with the famous hunter that was to take place tomorrow? Pushing his questions aside, the President nodded in compliance. "Tell them I'll be down as soon as I dress."

"Yes, Sir," Perkins replied, hurrying back to the parlor.

Creeping back inside his bedroom, McKinley dressed quickly. Kenneth Masterson would not wake him at this hour unless it was of the upmost urgency, and Captain Nemo's presence only added to the mystery.

Glancing upward, the religious man prayed for God to help them all. If the entire League was involved, then it was truly dire.


	20. Chapter 20

Hello!

I'm still around...LOL. Sorry for the wait.

Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, and for the encouragement to get this chapter done! You guys/gals are awesome!

Aspecial shout out to Ten Mara for her input and friendship. She's a true gem!

CHAPTER 20

_**Author's note: **The Secret Service did not start protecting the President of the United States (as they currently do) until 1901, when an assassination changed the course of the agency._

Kenneth Masterson gave a apologetic smile when he saw the American President enter the main parlor. Holding out his hand for McKinley to shake, the ambassador gave a slight nod in Captain Nemo's direction.

"Thank you for seeing us, Mr. President," Masterson spoke, his voice holding a tone of urgency. "This is Captain Nemo."

"A pleasure, Captain," McKinley said genuinely as he shook the mariner's hand after greeting Masterson. "I must admit to a fascination with some of your mechanical accomplishments. Agent Sawyer spoke at length about your superior technological mind, and now I find myself more than curious to see some of your inventions."

Nemo bowed respectfully at the admiration in the President's voice. "I would be honored to show you my Nautilus, Mr. President, under more agreeable circumstances."

"I'm truly sorry to bother you at this time," Masterson interrupted. "This matter cannot wait until your meeting with Mr. Quatermain tomorrow."

"Why is that?" McKinley asked as he gestured for the guests to take seats across from his own chair.

Taking a deep breath, Masterson answered the question. "Special Agent Sawyer was badly injured during an abduction attempt earlier, forcing me to take action immediately."

President McKinley frowned in concern. He had always liked the spunky and forthright agent. "How is he doing? What hospital is he in? I'll have guards sent there - "

"I received a communication from my first mate that Mr. Sawyer is recuperating," Nemo informed the American leader. "Many of my best fighters are protecting him right now, along with Mr. Quatermain and two other League members."

The British diplomat leaned in, and handed McKinley the note from Quatermain. "If you would read this, Mr. President..."

Quickly scanning over the message, the President rose from his seated potion. "The Secret Service has remained consistent in their refusal to allow Agent Sawyer to accompany the League on any more excursions, but this does change things." McKinley folded up the letter and placed it inside his vest pocket. "I do understand the urgency of the situation, Mr. Masterson. I'll call a few of my guards to come with me to the hospital. Which one is Agent Sawyer in?"

"He is at his home, Mr. President," the captain answered. "We were not familiar with this area, so we chose to take Sawyer somewhere close by instead of hunting for a hospital. He would have bled to death if prompt action wasn't taken. Dr. Jekyll and my personal physician were on hand to attend to him. Agent Sawyer would not have been in any better hands at a hospital."

"I see." Motioning for his aide to come closer, McKinley detailed what needed to be done, and sent the younger man off to fulfill the orders. "Since this has become an international matter, would you gentlemen be kind enough to take me to Mr. Quatermain directly yourselves?" Seeing the looks of amazement on the visitors' faces, the President gave them a reassuring look. "Time is of the upmost importance here, and we have wasted enough of it. My men will follow us soon."

Nemo led the way to his fabulous car, pleased at the wonderment he saw in McKinley's eyes. "Have you never seen an automobile before, Mr. President?"

"Oh yes," McKinley replied, eagerly entering the machine, "and Agent Sawyer was absolutely correct. He said the Model T's he test drove at the Ford factory were a pale comparison to your adaptation." As he settled himself on the plush seating, the American leader looked about him in amazement, deliberately ignoring the smell of blood that first hit his nose. He didn't need to guess who it had spilled from.

Starting up the engine, Captain Nemo glanced back and addressed the President. "This is a more modified version of the one young Sawyer drove in Venice." Starting the engine, the India native was surprised that Tom's ability to drive his creation was actually a skillful mastery of how to push the auto to its limits. When their youngest member was back aboard the Nautilus, he would have to ask about how extensive Sawyer's knowledge of cars was.

The car's four headlights lit up the pre-dawn night as the vehicle roared down the cobbled road. One piece of Quatermain's plan was now in motion.

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"Would I be asking the impossible if you have any idea where Gray is now?" Quatermain half-growled in Malloy's direction.

"He's in custody," the senior Secret Service agent answered stiffly. "I'm waiting for the damn British consulate to take him off our hands, but since you're here, I'll gladly let you have the snotty bastard."

The hunter balked. "I won't let Gray anywhere near Sawyer!"

Malloy smirked. "Mr. Sawyer won't be."

His hazel-brown eyes sparking angrily, Allan calmed himself. He'd get his satisfaction when they boarded the Nautilus with Sawyer in tow, but it was getting harder to keep his cool with this '_man_'. "This is getting us nowhere," the explorer muttered, looking towards Tom's small home. He should be in there with the lad, not trading useless barbs with Malloy.

"About time you realized the truth," the head spy couldn't help but dig. "I'm going inside. If you want to stay out here and lick your wounds...be my guest."

"What bloody wounds?" Quatermain bellowed, furious that his comment was taken as an admission of defeat. "I'm not conceding any ground to you!" A split second after the words left his mouth, a meaty fist connected with his jaw, sending the aging hero crashing to the ground.

Pleased with the effect his punch had on the adventurer, Malloy turned on his heel. "You just did, you stupid ass," he sniped back towards Quatermain. "You're well past your glory days old man; you'd have done better staying dead."

Though not unconscious, Quatermain fought the strong swimming sensation overtaking his body. Malloy must've been one hell of a boxer! With a grunt, he hauled himself onto his knees, willing his body to follow his mental order to fully stand. He had to get back to Sawyer before the boy _disappeared_ under the Secret Service's wishes. After a valiant try, the elderly adventure dropped back to the ground, and cursed under his breath. How could he have let his guard down, and fallen for something so obvious?

Drawing on an inner strength the hunter had fortified from numerous experiences back in Africa, Allan finally raised himself slowly from the ground. Though still shaky, Quatermain moved forward, shrugging off any help a few of Nemo's crewmen were offering him. He couldn't appear weak and feeble when he caught up with Malloy. There was something more behind that punch, and it left the explorer with the exact feeling he had when he last faced James Moriarty: a knife in his back.

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Fiddling with his pocket watch, Dr. Jekyll waited anxiously for Quatermain and Malloy to return. What was going on outside? Were the two men straightening out their differences over Sawyer, or were they making things even worse?

"_The old dinosaur probably shot the spy," _Mr. Hyde snickered in back of the medical man's mind.

"There wasn't any gunshots," Henry muttered under his breath in response.

"_Well then, Quatermain probably slit his throat or strangled him. That Malloy has to be permanently removed; it's the only way we'll get the toddler out of the country. The old man knows it as well as I do,"_ Hyde persisted, his tone turning caustic as he turned his full attention to his other half. _"Those two hate each other, and yet here you are, thinking they can work things out. You're a pathetic sod, Henry. Your only worth is because of me..."_

At first stung by the words, Jekyll looked towards the bedroom where the blonde agent was resting under Skinner's watch. "I think Tom might beg to differ," the doctor said with a tinge of self-satisfaction.

"_Bah! What does the boy know? He's barely out of childhood!" _

"Tom knows he's still alive," Henry countered. "I've been helping others long before you cursed my life. I can help, heal, and offer hope whereas you only destroy."

"_You'll need me, Henry," _Edward Hyde rumbled, his voice fading into the background of Jekyll's mind. _"It'll only be a matter of time before I'm unleashed."_

Covering his face between his shaky hands, Jekyll tried to calm the dread inside at Hyde's ominous prediction. If Edward was released, would the behemoth be a help or a hindrance? The doctor's gloomy musings were interrupted by Malloy's sudden entrance.

The supervisor of the Secret Service yanked open the front door as if it was a mere piece of wood, a temporary nuisance to overcome as he strode purposely towards a wall near Tom's kitchen area. When Dr. Jekyll neared, Malloy pushed the smaller man back with a deliberate, hard shove, sending Henry falling to the floor.

Finally at his desired goal, Malloy reached out and grabbed the receiver of the phone that hung on the wall, pressing a button upon the contraption before winding up the crank on the side of the case.

Jekyll pushed himself up from the hardwood floor, his nerves tingling in alarm. Where was Allan? "What is all this about?" Henry asked angrily. "Why isn't Mr. Quatermain with you?" Malloy didn't answer the questions, instead demanding the operator on the phone line to get him in touch with the Department of the Treasury immediately.

"Dammit, hurry up," the master spy growled into the receiver. "This is important!"

"_LET ME OUT!" _Hyde screamed in fury. _"The bastard is going to doom us all if I don't snap his neck now!"_

As the doctor fought with the choice to drink the elixir to stop the agent from bringing reinforcements, a loud click echoed in the air, and Jekyll found himself staring into the barrel of Malloy's pistol.

"Don't move." Malloy said icily as his eyes sparked dangerously at Dr. Jekyll. Raising his hands up to show he would be no threat, Henry backed up a few steps.

"Think of Tom, how all the chaos will affect him," Jekyll pleaded.

"Everything I'm doing has Mr. Sawyer as the main objective!" the senior agent snapped, not bothering to hide the hatred in his tone. "You damn freaks are going to ruin everything!" The gun raised higher. "You know I could shoot you right now and be totally justified..."

"Go ahead." Quatermain stood in the open doorway of the house, his body resting against the door frame. "Though I'm afraid you won't get the results you're looking for." Reaching inside his coat pocket, the seasoned explorer pulled out some bullets. "I took the liberty of emptying your gun barrel along with a few other threatening items from your person while you were out cold earlier." Allan grinned smugly as he entered inside the livingroom, pleased at the sound of the receiver slamming against the phone case. "The spy game must have changed over the years. In my day, you never left a potential foe with the means to destroy you...especially when they're down."

Inwardly fuming, Malloy appeared unfazed by the older man's words on the outside. The lead spy cursed himself for not checking his weapon first. His well honed alertness was being thrown off the mark by this old coot. "You're in my territory, Quatermain, so you better forget trying to pull a fast one to sneak Sawyer out of the country. Not only will you and your freak show rejects suffer, but Sawyer will as well." The American folded his arms resolutely across his chest, and stared hard at Allan. "You and the '_good_'doctor keep telling me to think of Sawyer, but are you really doing it?"

Allan ground his teeth before answering, but kept his tone civil since he was back inside the house. "We have a meeting with the President tomorrow to discuss Sawyer being able to-"

"A settled issue," Malloy interrupted. "You'll receive the same reply as before...a no. Do you honestly think that the great Allan Quartermain can't be turned down? Or maybe that's why you snuck into the country well before your expected arrival. Was there a back-up plan to bring Agent Sawyer into the League by any means necessary?"

"We were afraid of Tom disappearing like his fellow agents," Dr. Jekyll said, forcing himself into the conversation. "Until the meeting with the President, we wanted to make sure Tom stayed protected."

Malloy rolled his eyes and let out a snort of disbelief. "Oh really? You've done such a great job of it tonight. I'm sorry I doubted your motives since you all have such stellar reputations," he said with venomous sarcasm, "but I until I hear from the President's own mouth that Agent Sawyer is allowed back into the League, I'm taking over _'my_' agent's welfare, and none of you will be able to do a damn thing about it."

As he turned to once again to grab the telephone receiver, Malloy stopped his forward motion, a strange screeching sound hitting his ears. Immediately looking towards the League's leader, the head spy could see the confidence beaming from the Briton.

Cursing under his breath, Malloy stormed over to the still opened door, prepared to face whatever Quatermain had in store next. When he viewed the magnificent machine parked outside of Tom's house, the supervisor remembered the vehicle also being at Ambassador Masterson's earlier.Who else was missing from Quatermain's monstrosity list? The car, the nautical garb that was more fitting of a native of India...this had to be Captain Nemo. A pirate who stole and terrorized the seafaring world for years. Malloy gave a small groan. Great. Another pain in the ass.

When he saw Ambassador Masterson exit the elaborate car, Malloy gave a scornful laugh. "Oh, what have we here? You got a British diplomat on your side? I'd say he's got about as much authority as you, Quatermain." Peering into the dawning light, the spy made out another figure leaving from the opposite side of the automobile. "Who the hell did Masterson bring with him?" he muttered in disgust. "Might as well be the privy cleaner for all the good it'll do."

It was Allan's turn to laugh when Malloy's mouth literally dropped open from recognition.

President McKinley? Here?

"What? How the hell did you manage...?" Malloy sputtered with anger and shock in Quatermain's direction. He quickly recovered, sounding off on the older man. "What kind of lies did you tell the President to get him to come here? You won't get away with it! This is my country, dammit, and no ancient limey is going to say how things are run!"

"That's my job description, Mr. Malloy," President McKinley said firmly as he walked up to the master agent, his face only inches from the spy's. "If you would kindly remove your body from the doorway, I would like to fully enter the home."

"Yes Sir, Mr. President," Malloy said sheepishly as he side-stepped to the right of the doorframe.

Hiding his delight inside at his plan working in front of the querulous spy, Quatermain pushed past Malloy and shook the American leader's hand. "President McKinley, I'm Allan Quatermain," the hunter said respectfully. "I apologize for springing this on you so soon, but after tonight's failed kidnaping of Agent Sawyer, I felt compelled to contact you immediately."

"I would like to see Agent Sawyer myself before we begin any discussions," the President replied, looking past the adventurer to survey his surroundings. The smell of blood still hung in the air, causing the leader to wonder on how close to death Sawyer had come.

Henry came up beside McKinley. "I'm Dr. Jekyll, Mr. President. I'll take you to him," he offered, ushering the man towards Tom's bedroom. "He's resting right now, so we must stay quiet."

The President nodded his understanding, and went with the doctor, the action making Malloy furious. Who the hell did these foreigners think they were? Acting like they were in charge! The master spy started out after McKinley, but Quatermain placed a restraining arm across Malloy's expansive chest, stopping his forward motion.

"Don't you dare try to stop me! Agent Sawyer doesn't work for you," Malloy spat out viciously.

"Not yet," Allan smirked. "Let's not make a bigger ass of yourself in front of your country's leader, hmm?"

"Go to Hell," the supervisor snarled, jerking his body out from under Quatermain's arm.

"And who might this agitated man be?" Nemo asked with an slight grin as he entered inside the house.

Giving the native of India a venomous glare, Malloy said spitefully, "You can join Quatermain in Hell too."

"Nemo, this is Sawyer's supervisor, Mr. Patrick Malloy," Quatermain said with exaggerated cheerfulness. The old explorer chuckled out loud at the smoldering look he received from the American agent.

"This disagreeable man is young Sawyer's boss?" the Captain asked incredulously. "You would think a man in his position would not be so... '_sour_' in his temperament." Masterson choked back a laugh out of politeness, but Quatermain let out a boisterous howl of amusement.

"I'd watch it, if I were you!" Malloy threw his heated gaze back to Quatermain. "You will all regret messing with me..." The humor left the others in the room when they heard the words spoken. There was no doubt in the supervisor's tone to the seriousness of the threat.

To Malloy, it was a promise.

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President McKinley held back a gasp of surprise when he first viewed Tom's sleeping form. He had spoken to the blonde agent briefly the day before, but the young man he saw now seemed like an imposter. Gone was the healthy glow that the spy normally wore upon his features, and the hazel eyes were closed, oblivious to the danger about him.

The Thomas Sawyer he knew was a boundless supply of youthful vigor and inquisitiveness, usually unable to sit still for long, lest he miss out on anything. Yet this same agent possessed the stealth and patience of a cat if the case called for it, holding off till right moment to catch his prey, no matter the wait.

A small sigh left the American leader. It truly was disheartening to see Sawyer in this state of vulnerability. He turned to Dr. Jekyll. "Captain Nemo mentioned your name as other doctor who helped Mr. Sawyer," the President spoke quietly. "Will he recover fully?"

"Yes. He received a clean shot through the thigh, and if he gets plenty of rest, Mr. Sawyer should be back to his feisty form in a month or so."

Grinning slightly at the use of the term '_feisty_', McKinley thought back to the day Agent Sawyer had presented his case to go to Europe to stop the Fantom. There was no fear or nervousness in the young agent; only a strong determination along with a dose of well-played charm. The President had guessed the real motive behind the request was to avenge Agent Finn's murder, but Sawyer was tenacious and clever in his arguments, bolstering his claim to be the best agent suited to finish the mission.

At the end of the day, McKinley overruled Agent Sawyer's superiors, and approved the trip to England. The President had met many of the Secret Service's agents over his term, but none seemed more naturally adept for the role of spy than Sawyer. That fact alone was a major catalyst in McKinley's decision.

McKinley shook himself from his thoughts. He knew what had to be done. Shaking Dr. Jekyll's hand, the President left the bedroom, instantly meeting Quatermain's gaze.

"Gentlemen, I would like to speak to Mr. Quatermain alone," the President said with an authoritative tone. "Would you please step outside?"

"Mr. President, I must insist--"

Placing his hands behind his back, McKinley frowned. "Mr. Malloy, you may insist all you like, but do it quietly to yourself...and outside."

Casting one last fuming glare at the adventurer, Malloy left the house along with Masterson, Nemo, and Jekyll. Skinner stayed inside Sawyer's room, his invisibility aiding in keeping his vigil over Tom's safety a secret.

"I'd like to thank you, Mr. President, for your rapid response to the Queen's request," Allan said with a slight dip of his white head. "I was asked by my government to investigate the recent disappearances of agents from all over the globe..."

"And Agent Sawyer's safety was upmost in your mind," the President surmised, knowing he had hit a nerve when he watched Quatermain briefly struggle to retain a passive look. McKinley could tell from the facial falter that the hunter cared about what happened to the young agent. It poured from the older man like a parent concerned over a child; something the President knew about all too well. Still, there were more things to consider before giving his answer.

"As a great hero of Britannia, you would assuredly have the Queen's ear, and I have no doubt that you persuaded Her Majesty to write this letter urging Agent Sawyer's liaison with the League." McKinley paused, and stared hard into the explorer's face. "Why is it so important to have this particular agent involved?"

"We've worked well with Sawyer, and find him to be more than capable to handle what may lie ahead," Quatermain answered unwaveringly, though inside he was brewing with worry. He had honestly expected the President to concur to the Queen's petition without question. "I also understand, Mr. President, that you yourself overruled the Secret Service, and sent Sawyer to England. You obviously see his potential as well."

"Yes, Agent Sawyer is rather exceptional, but at this moment of crisis, we need every good agent we have, Mr. Quatermain, and I agree with the Secret Service on that point." The words were said bluntly, causing Allan's hope to dip. "Yet, I do understand Queen Victoria's or should I say...your... position where it would benefit the United States if we did have one of our own within your group."

The seasoned explorer found himself holding his breath as he waited for the next words spoken from McKinley's mouth. Would his perfect plan be turned on its head by the League being offered a different agent?

"I will grant the request to have Agent Sawyer join The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," the President said with a slight upturn at his mouth, "but I am only doing this for my country's welfare, not because of any other outside pressures. Agent Sawyer is working for the American government only, and if there is any conflict in that duty, he will be removed immediately. Am I clear on that point, Mr. Quatermain?"

"Of course, Mr. President," Allan said quickly, trying not to appear overly grateful.

"If Dr. Jekyll approves it, I would like to have Agent Sawyer taken to the Nautilus straight away," the President continued, his features turning grave. "Fortunately you were able to stop his abduction tonight, and I can think of nowhere safer to keep the young man than Captain Nemo's submarine. From this point on, you will have the total cooperation of the American government to stop this threat, and, if God willing, get our agents back alive."

Allan nodded his head vigorously. "Speaking on behalf of the League, we'd truly appreciate the assistance, Mr. President." The hunter stopped, raised voices hitting his hearing. He frowned in consternation when he heard Malloy's voice bellowing through the din.

"Mrs. O'Brien! You cannot go in there!" Malloy was nearly screaming outside the front door.

"I don't care if the President himself's inside!" a female voice shouted back. "My dear Tom needs me!"

'_A woman?' _Quatermain pondered to himself. Did Sawyer have a sweetheart? And a married one at that? No, he couldn't see the blonde American doing something that egregious, she was probably a young widow, like Mrs. Harker. The hunter smiled to himself. Yes, he could see Sawyer doing something like that. Probably quite a beauty too.

Aimee O'Brien bounded through the front door, her green eyes aglow with fierce determination. Nothing or no one was going to prevent her from seeing the lad. Hands on her hips, she inspected the two men standing in front of her with a withering look. The smaller built man did seem familiar for some reason, but she couldn't put a name to the face. It didn't matter. They wouldn't be blocking her way for long.

"Don't neither of you gents get any ideas of stopping me," Mrs. O'Brien said tersely, attempting to walk between Quatermain and the President. "I'm seeing '_my_' Tom."

Recovering from the surprise of seeing a middle-aged woman instead of a comely, young widow, Allan grabbed a hold of the woman's left arm. "And you are?" A stinging smack upon the top of his restraining hand was the answer.

"Don't argue with her, Quatermain," Malloy muttered as he came to the entrance of the front door, rubbing his upper right arm as if he was feeling some pain in it. "She's only a threat to the people who try to stop her."

Surprised at the lead spy's comment, Allan lessened his grip on the woman's arm. Who the hell was she that even Malloy kowtowed to her? Other than being very vocal and pushy, she didn't seem dangerous. The hunter frowned in aggravation. This Mrs. O'Brien was not the beauty that Mrs. Harker was, but she certainly shared similarities with the vampiress in attitude.

Smirking triumphantly, Mrs. O'Brien jerked her arm free of the explorer's hold, and entered inside Sawyer's room cautiously, not wanting to startleTom unnecessarily. Henry came hurrying inside the home seconds later, waving off Quatermain from going into the bedroom. He would handle this situation.

Mrs. O'Brien's eyes filled with tears when she saw her beloved Tom. Though childless, she and her husband had adopted the three Missouri boys into their hearts, and the sight of her secret '_favorite_' so still and pale tore at the fiber of her motherly instincts.

Skinner silently moved closer to the bed to protect Sawyer, but Jekyll's appearance in the room stopped his approach towards the unexpected intruder. His teammate obviously knew who the woman was. The invisible man held his position, waiting in case he would be needed.

A hand gently touched her shoulder, and Mrs. O'Brien turned to look into the sympathetic face of Dr. Jekyll. "What happened to my precious boy, Doctor?"

"Tom was hurt, and he lost a lot of blood," Jekyll answered quietly. "He'll be all right, Mrs. O'Brien, just needs to rest and build his strength back up. Why don't I escort you back home..."

Mrs. O'Brien shook her head forcefully. "Thank you, Dr. Jekyll, but I'm not leaving my precious Tom's side till I see those beautiful eyes of his open myself." Viewing the chair beside Sawyer's bed, she planted herself into the seat, and reached out to stroke Tom's blonde mane. "My Charlie is going to be along any minute with some essentials, so if you could help him get things settled, it would be greatly appreciated."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Brien, but you can't stay here," Henry disagreed politely. "Everything is under control now. Tom is safe."

A brief flash of defiance shown in the woman's face before she answered. "Safe? Safe from what, Doctor? Did someone deliberately harm my Tom?" The alarm in her voice began to rise. "Someone did! Who would dare hurt such a sweet lad? It was that Mr. Gray wasn't it? I didn't like that man the moment I laid eyes on him, I didn't."

Jekyll bit down on the inside of his lip. How much should he say? If he acted like it was an accidental wound, it would be offending the lady's intelligence, but to admit to the true danger Tom had faced wasn't a wise move either. It was doubtful Sawyer told the O'Brien's the full extent of his '_employment_'. And Mr. Dorian Gray's involvement...well...that was a totally different matter.

Rubbing on this throbbing temples, Henry fought back the exhaustion beginning to overtake his control. Between the worry over Sawyer and treating his injury, lack of sleep, dealing with Quatermain's moodiness, and Patrick Malloy's hostile attitude, it was a wonder he had kept Hyde's personality in check so well. As much as he liked Mrs. O'Brien and understood her devotion to Tom, her stubbornness was grating on his last nerve.

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Jekyll excused himself from the room. God help him, but he was going to let Allan contend with Mrs. O'Brien. It had to be better than Mr. Hyde.


	21. Chapter 21

Hello! Yes, I've finally updated!

First off, I must thank the gracious, wonderful, talented, patient Ten for her help!

Another shout out to Xanthia. I will try to incorporate your idea in the next chapter.

**I will be fixing some or all of my earlier chapters, so prepare for a slew of updates. This chapter is the only new one.**

Many thanks to all who reviewed. It is greatly appreciated.

CHAPTER 21

The soft rays of dawn hit upon the slumbering man's face, causing Dorian Gray's eyes to open in alarm. Morning? How long had he slept? Cursing under his breath, the immortal fumbled around for his pocket watch, his ire growing when he noted it was after 7 a.m. A myriad of terrible things could have happened to that insufferable Sawyer while he lay sleeping...

Gray settled himself. No, he wasn't in Hell...yet. As he tried to smooth out his rumpled clothing, the aristocrat briefly scanned the bedroom he was in. Did the chap who owned this hovel have anything he could possibly borrow? Maybe if he looked more like the buffoons who lived in this part of the woods, he could sneak in closer to find out what was going on with his '_charge_'.

A quick rifling through the closet produced a jacket and pair of trousers. The length was longer than what he was used to, but Dorian found them to be an acceptable fit. Besides, he doubted if the man who lived here even knew what a tailor was for. Searching inside the dresser, Gray found a decent shirt, and another item that would help him immensely.

Tucked underneath several articles of clothing was a small, black leather flip wallet. Gray nearly giggled out loud at his luck. It was a badge belonging to a Secret Service Agent. As he hurried to the modest bathroom to tidy himself up, the immortal pushed his curiosity aside.

It wasn't his concern why the owner of the badge didn't take it with him.

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Skinner silently watched the woman gently run her hand down the side of Sawyer's face as she hummed. It sounded close to a lullaby his own mum sang to him when he was a wee lad. This lady was certainly no threat; acting like what any good mother would do if her child was hurt. Was this Sawyer's mum? The gentleman thief studied her features, but found no similarities that he could tell. If she wasn't the kid's mother, she sure thought she was.

The rogue smiled to himself. Damn, how did Tom do it? He got Quatermain practically foaming at the mouth with worry over him, and now this lady was treating the spy like he was spun gold.

A log rolling into the metal screen in front of the fireplace surprised the normally unflappable Rodney Skinner. The fire was getting too low, but he faced the dilemma of scaring the woman in the room with him if he tried to replenish the wood. The last thing Sawyer's recuperation needed was a hysterical lady. Skinner had never met a woman who didn't at least scream when he made his '_invisible_' presence known.

In the bed, Sawyer shivered slightly. The cozy warmth was starting to fade, and it was drawing him closer to consciousness. Something else was wrong. The strong voice and touch that had led him from the point of no return was gone, replaced by another. Deep down he knew the soft voice now speaking to him, but it didn't matter. Why didn't it matter?

As his thoughts began to clarify, Tom's head tossed weakly back and forth, his eyes clamping tighter in distress. He had to find out something, but what? Who was he searching for? The movements grew more urgent as the young man came closer to awareness.

"Blimey," Skinner muttered under his breath when he saw Sawyer begin to stir. Should he get Dr. Jekyll? Maybe even Quatermain? He stood still for a few moments, watching the woman try to soothe the agitated blonde, but it seemed to upset Tom further.

"Sh-h-h...," Mrs. O'Brien pleaded with the young agent. "It's all right, dearest, Miz Aimee is here." An agonized moan left Sawyer's mouth, followed closely by another. The woman immediately dropped her hands, afraid to do more. Was the boy in pain? Was he reliving how he got his injury? Maybe she should call for Dr. Jekyll...

'_That's it. I'm getting help,'_ the former thief thought to himself. He would have to risk upsetting the lady to aid his friend. Before he could put his thoughts into action, the answer to his dilemma came briskly through the bedroom door. Good old Allan's super-sensitive hearing must've picked up on Tom's voice.

"I don't know what's wrong...," Mrs. O'Brien tried to explain to the newcomer as he gently, but firmly moved her off to the side. "I can't seem to get through to him," she said as her eyes began to swim with tears of concern.

Quatermain ignored the woman, instead placing all his attention upon Sawyer. Using one of his large hands, he placed it on the right side of the youth's head, instantly stopping the frantic motions. "None of this, Thomas. You're supposed to be resting," the hunter chastised gently.

Sawyer drifted deeper into sleep. Everything was right again.

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"Did you find out anything?" Campion Bond asked as he entered inside the spacious sitting room of the apartment that the British government set up for Mrs. Harker. Things were getting worse by the day. First these '_beings_' were only interested in spies, now they were going after military personnel. Who was next? And what would be left to defend the nations of the Earth?

Lifting up a beaker filled with liquid, Mina tried to hide her disappointment. "This substance appears to be ordinary," she informed the master spy. "I've done every chemical test I could think of, and there's still no trace of any exceptional properties."

"Yet this white powder has been at every abduction site," Bond mused out loud.

Mina only nodded in reply, rubbing at her tired eyes. It had literally been a week of Hell. She had managed to save a paltry amount of soldiers from the invaders, but the number of the missing seemed to grow by the hour, along with her feelings of hopelessness. What she wouldn't give for a dose of Sawyer's optimism...

The thought of her young friend brought the vampiress out of her defeatism. He was the true reason she was doing this, and why she had to succeed. She felt sorry for the other unfortunate souls who were taken, but it was Sawyer's fate that controlled her actions, as if by helping them, she was somehow keeping Tom safe.

"Have you heard if the others had reached Mr. Sawyer?" she ventured to ask her visitor.

"No," Bond admitted, "but I can't see Mr. Quatermain failing in anything he sets his mind to. Have no doubts that the young man is safe in your leader's care."

Normally a comment like that about Quatermain's '_superior attributes_' would have irked the auburn haired beauty, but for Sawyer's sake, she prayed the old adventurer was living up to his reputation as being the undisputed hero of lore.

"I hope the American government shares your high esteem of Mr. Quatermain," Mina said with an unfelt smile as she turned back to her work. "They seemed most unwilling to let Mr. Sawyer join us."

Placing his hands behind his back, Bond grinned. "He has that under control as well."

The lady vampire's head snapped up in attention. "How can he achieve such cooperation when it was so forcibly denied on prior occasions? Even your requests were rebuffed."

"Alas, I do not have unlimited access to the Queen Mother."

"Mr. Q does?" Mina looked on in surprise when Bond nodded in the affirmative.

"He has a special dispatch from the Queen herself to the President of the United States," the portly agent supplied. "Your leader has convinced Her Grace to turn Agent Sawyer's involvement into a diplomatic issue. The Americans will not refuse, because they want to improve their relationship with Britain."

Her lips quirking into a genuine smile, Mina nearly jumped up from her chair. Instantly her Victorian '_sensibilities_' kicked in, and she stopped herself from the outward display of joy over the news. Besides, she shouldn't be sharing her hug of happiness with the dour man before her; it belonged to the man who would soon be rejoining the League.

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"What's wrong?" Malloy demanded in Quatermain's direction, his head popping inside the bedroom's open doorway.

"The lad's fine now that I'm here," the hunter replied smugly. "Would it be too much for you to ask President McKinley to come in to finish our conversation?"

The chief spy was about to mutter something akin to '_Go straight to hell_', but with the country's leader so close by, he chose to grunt a response instead. The great Allan Quatermain was going to find out the hard way that payback was a bitch.

"Did you just say President McKinley?" Mrs. O'Brien asked Allan in a hushed voice. "My Tom knows the President of the United States?" She stood silent for a moment, digesting the knowledge. "I-I guess that would be so...my boy does work for the government."

The adventurer studied the woman, wondering how much she knew of Tom's actual role. "Sawyer told you about his occupation?"

"Oh yes. My dear boy chases after criminals who try to steal or copy our currency." There was obvious pride in Mrs. O'Brien's voice. "He's even gone overseas to catch those awful forgers." She turned anxious eyes to Quatermain. "Is that why my Tom was hurt?"

Seeing the genuine concern in her features, Allan let down his guard a bit. "We don't honestly know, but it's a very real possibility that it was related to his job," he offered as truthfully as he could without giving too much away.

"You must know my Tom very well," Mrs. O'Brien noted, seeing how Allan's hand had not left Sawyer's body. It was now resting upon the spy's left shoulder. "I didn't see you in the picture Dr. Jekyll showed me. Did you come with him?"

"I was...gone...when that picture was taken," Quatermain admitted with a heavy heart. And he certainly was '_gone_'...gone into denial and pity, leaving the weight of his death on shoulders that shouldn't have been bearing it.

Pointing to the slumbering youth, the lady gave Allan a warm smile as she reached out and gave the aging man's shoulder a slight squeeze. "Well, my Tom is glad you're here now, and that makes you all right in my book."

Surprised at how her words eased his guilt, the adventurer found himself giving the woman a tiny smile back. "Thank you, Mrs. O'Brien."

"Tsk! Don't mention it! My husband should be here any minute, so I had best get things ready to make breakfast for you all. I know my boy is in good hands."

"There is no need to go to all that trouble...," Allan began to protest.

"I'm here, and I will!" Mrs. O'Brien interrupted, her hands on her hips. "Last night was the first time I laid eyes on my Tom since sweet Huck's funeral, and he and my Joey are all that's left. It's a small thing I can do for him and his new friends."

"Joey?" Quatermain questioned. He recalled a Huckleberry Finn being mentioned by Tom, but he didn't know this other name.

"My Tom, Huckleberry, and Joey were childhood friends. Even worked together." A sad expression overcame the woman's face. "A part of my two boys died when they laid that dear soul to rest. My Tom was the charmer and obvious leader of the three, dear Joey was more practical, and sweet Huckleberry was a laid back, thoughtful boy. Charlie and I adore them like they were our own."

"They sound very close," the explorer said with a glance towards Sawyer.

"Especially my dear Tom and Huckleberry. Those two were thick as thieves." The lady sighed and turned away, quickly dabbing at her wet eyes.

The hunter felt a knot form in his stomach. This '_Joey_' was a fellow agent, and an endeared friend as well. Was this young man one of the missing? Would Sawyer have to suffer through another painful '_loss_'?

Allan ventured to find out more. "Did this '_Joey_' keep in touch with you after the funeral?"

Mrs. O'Brien shook her head. "I stopped by his home before coming here. He had to be told about Tom..."

"So you did talk to him?"

"Yes, I did. He should be coming by soon."

A wave of relief flooded over the seasoned explorer. It was going be hard enough telling Tom about his missing colleagues, but a missing friend would intensify matters worse. The worry became a spark of curiosity. This Joey person obviously knew the Thomas Sawyer he had read about in the scrap book, making it a golden opportunity to ask some questions.

"Mr. Quatermain?"

Allan's head jerked up, his musings interrupted by the arrival of the President into the bedroom. Before he could answer, Mrs. O'Brien chimed in, apologizing for her rude conduct from earlier when she had not realized who he was.

McKinley smiled in understanding. "There was no indiscretion committed, and don't worry a moment longer on the subject."

"Oh, thank you, Sir! I mean, Mr. President," Mrs. O'Brien gushed, inching herself out the door. "Do you like pancakes, Mr. President?"

"Why yes...," the leader answered with a raised brow. He looked over at Quatermain, who rolled his eyes in response.

"Mrs. O'Brien insists on making breakfast," the adventurer explained.

"Thank you, but I won't be staying long," McKinley said apologetically to the woman. "I have some other matters to attend to." The American president turned his attention to Allan. "Captain Nemo will fill you in on some matters," he said in a lower tone, his eyes straying towards the sleeping agent.

"I thank you again, Mr. President," Quatermain said in parting, shaking the man's hand.

He could tell McKinley wanted to say more, but with Mrs. O'Brien standing nearby, it would have to wait till another time. The hunter did his best not to glower at the woman, since she was just as concerned about Sawyer as he was, but dammit, she was a bit underfoot.

President McKinley and Mrs. O'Brien left the room together, giving Allan a moment of peace. Two of his goals were met; Sawyer's safety, and his return to the League. The only thing left was to get the boy aboard the Nautilus, away from all the mysterious disappearances. Hopefully that end wasn't far from being fulfilled.

"Cor! I'd thought she'd never bloomin' leave!" Skinner huffed out, a floating log signaling his intentions. "The room's been practically freezing, and I couldn't do nothing about it, unless I wanted a screaming banshee running about," he mumbled as he placed several pieces of wood upon the dwindling flames.

Quatermain frowned to himself when he realized the room had indeed dipped in temperature, but it didn't seem to him to be that drastic. He looked in the general direction of his invisible, and unclothed teammate. "I guess it would be freezing to you..."

"You forget, Allan, I walked for miles in that bloody ice box called Mongolia. A feat that no other human could survive...minus his fur coat, shirt, pants, under knickers, socks, and boots. Compared to that, this room is rather balmy."

"Skinner, you truly are extraordinary."

"Me?" The invisible man feigned surprise. "Does being revived from the great beyond suddenly bring great wisdom as well?"

Knowing his comrade was jesting, Allan tried to hide the bitterness in his voice as he softly patted Tom's shoulder. "Let's just say it makes you more aware of what you had left behind."

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Gray studied his reflection in the mirror. A bath and change of clothes had done wonders, even if the attire was less than acceptable. Grabbing the mug full of shaving cream, the immortal dabbed the thick mixture upon his day old stubble, and began to meticulously shave. After he had completed the task, Dorian once again eyed his reflection. No, something wasn't right... He looked too dapper to pass for a Secret Service agent. If Sawyer was any indication of how the rest of the field looked...he could never hope to downplay his visage and breeding.

With a dramatic sigh, Gray picked up the shaving brush and applied cream to his goatee and mustache. He would have to make sacrifices if this ruse had a chance to work. Ten minutes later the aristocrat was done, viewing the change skeptically.

Dammit! He still looked too attractive. Frowning, he grabbed a nearby hairbrush and began to brush his luxurious, dark brown locks back from his face, hoping that would help. It did a little, but not enough for his liking. There had to be something else he could do to better disguise himself...

Dorian hurried out of the bathroom, scanning the home for anything he could use to help in his plot. It was only a matter of time before Sawyer's superiors would find out he had escaped. The more different he looked, the better his chances of getting to Tom, and then to the other League members.

His dark eyes rested upon a coat tree beside the front door as he tried to pick his brain for any kind of idea. Unable to come up with anything, he actually prayed for the first time in centuries. As if a ray of heavenly light had filtered down to show Gray a sign, he saw the lip to a hat sticking out among the coats.

Perfect!

The immortal grabbed his prize and rushed back into the bathroom, instantly placing the Stetson hat upon his head. Keeping his hair brushed back, he nodded in approval. If he kept the lip down low enough, it would shade his eyes enough to avoid direct eye contact. Satisfied with his new appearance, he boldly opened the door to the house and stepped outside. After all, he was now Special Agent Reginald Peterson.

Gray didn't bother to hide the smirk playing at his lips. Agent Sawyer was soon going to learn there was no getting rid of him!


	22. Chapter 22

Hi All!

Finally updating. First off, thanks to Ten Mara for being a greater than great beta and friend.

Thanks to some readers who have been encouraging me to get my rear in gear.

Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter.

CHAPTER 22

Tom Sawyer's modest home was being filled with the delicious aroma of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and sausage, thanks to Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien. Smelling the food caused Quatermain's stomach to rumble, but the old hunter didn't stray from his chair beside Tom's bed. Though he had the President's assurance of the young spy being allowed back into the League, Allan still couldn't quell the persistent nagging in back of his mind. The threat to Sawyer wasn't over yet.

"I don't know about you, Allan," Skinner said, "but I'm a bit on the famished side."

"M-m-hm-m," the explorer nodded. "The food does smell appetizing."

"Aren't you the least bit hungry?"

"Yes."

"Well?" the invisible man urged after a few seconds of silence. "Are you going to get us anything to eat?"

"Skinner, if you're starving, go ahead and help yourself," Quatermain grumbled.

"Now that makes a lot of sense. A plate floating in the air..."

Allan gave the former thief a churlish scowl. "If I go out there, then I'll have to make small talk, and all that other bloody nonsense."

"Ah, not the sociable type, are we?" Rodney jabbed. "Still don't make it right to rob me of my nourishment."

"Allow me, gentlemen, to ease your burdens," Captain Nemo's rich voice boomed as he entered Sawyer's bedroom. The mariner was carrying two piping hot plates of food, which he promptly distributed to his teammates.

Quatermain smiled appreciatively at the Captain, and took his breakfast, while Skinner almost ripped his plate out of Nemo's other hand.

"May whatever god you like bless you!" Rodney said joyously, his nostrils opening wide to absorb the heavenly scent of his breakfast. "I have a mind to bow down to you myself right now."

"Skinner, use your mouth for eating while Nemo and I discuss our next course of action." The famed hunter turned his gaze back to Captain Nemo anxiously. "Did you get any sense of the President changing his mind about letting Sawyer come with us?"

Nemo stroked at this long beard. "Is it something you picked up on from speaking to him yourself, or from a fear?"

Looking past the captain and out the open doorway, Quatermain saw Malloy sitting at the kitchen table, glaring straight into the bedroom at them. "The sooner the lad is on the Nautilus, the better. Something still isn't right."

"I think we can trust the President," Rodney piped up confidently. "He seemed like a decent chap."

Captain Nemo nodded in agreement. "I found him to be an honorable man."

Taking a bite of his eggs, the adventurer continued in his quest for Tom's immediate return to the Nautilus. "Maybe we can start packing up the boy's belongings, and have everything ready--"

"Shouldn't we be waiting until Tom wakes up?" Rodney interrupted. "Its his stuff, he should have the say so of what stays or goes."

"Skinner...," Quatermain half growled.

"...Is absolutely right," Nemo countered. "Besides, we can clear up any obstacles when we have our official meeting with the President this afternoon. Perhaps Sawyer will be awake by then."

"I can't go," the hunter said forcefully.

"You must. The meeting was your idea in the first place," Captain Nemo argued, "and you confirmed it with the President..."

"I know, but I wasn't thinking things through. I won't leave the lad here..."

"Then take me with you," a sleepy voice suggested.

"Like hell I will," Quatermain blustered before it registered who he was addressing. His head turned sharply to the young man in the bed. "Thomas?"

"No, its Tom." The spy smiled up weakly when he saw Skinner's floating plate, and Nemo standing on either side of the League's leader. "How are you guys doin'? Sure is mighty nice to see both of you again."

"I can honestly say that life certainly has spiced up since we found you," Rodney quipped. "Good to see you all rosy cheeked as well." The thief pointed his fork in the direction of Tom's face, which was awash in a pink tint. "White as a sheet may enhance my devilishly handsome looks, but it does nothing for you."

Nemo gave his young teammate a slight bow of respect. "I am much better, knowing that you are on your way to healing."

"And healing begins with sleep," Allan asserted with authority. "Just close your eyes and get back to it, lad. I'm handling things, so there's nothing for you to bother with."

Tom rolled his eyes in irritation at the hunter's condescending attitude. It didn't help his mood either that his wounded thigh was throbbing with pain. Injured or not, he wasn't going to be kept from participating in his own life. "Just because I was shot, I ain't gonna put up with bein' coddled. Damn right I'm gonna get involved! Startin' with this meetin' with the President."

"What I say goes, boy," Quatermain shot back curtly. "I have everything under control, and you are going nowhere."

"I'm goin'," the blonde agent said stubbornly. "Ain't nothin' gonna change that."

"Thomas...," Allan warned.

"Who?"

"Don't you start with me, young man..." Grunting, the explorer shoved a heaping bite of scrambled eggs in his mouth, and took his frustrations out in the motion of chewing. He knew this game, recalling how many times his son, Harry, played it in years past. It was just as annoying now as it was then. Arguing back wasn't going to diminish the boy's obstinance, but only fuel it on.

Clearing his throat nervously, Skinner spoke up. "Uhm, weren't we just talking about taking Tom out of here? What's the big fuss over?"

Nemo's brows shot up in surprise at the boldness of his invisible friend. The same thought had entered his mind as well. Moments ago, their leader wanted to whisk Sawyer from this location as soon as possible, now Quatermain was changing plans?

"This is a totally different matter," Allan said between clenched teeth. Dammit, he was only reacting to Sawyer's foolish persistence in going to see the President. The boy needed to rest...on the Nautilus. Why was everyone nitpicking over everything he said?

"How do you figure that?" the American spy challenged. "Am I stayin' or goin' in your mighty opinion?"

The old hunter wagged his index finger in Tom's direction. "You have no idea what we're discussing, so no more nonsense out of you!"

"I might be more quiet if I had somethin' to eat to keep my mouth busy," Tom said as his eyes moved to the adventurer's empty plate.

Allan's quarrelsome attitude instantly vanished. "You must be starving. I'll get some of that oatmeal Mrs. O'Brien made especially for you."

"Miz Aimee is here?" Tom brightened, despite the pain and blood loss dragging him down.

Quatermain hesitated near the open doorway. "I don't think you're up to seeing..."

Holding back his vexation, Sawyer managed a smile. "She'll come in whether you want her to or not. Besides, that's not the proper way to thank someone for makin' you a fine meal."

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As soon as the aged hunter entered the kitchen area, Malloy bolted from his chair. "Agent Sawyer is up, isn't he?"

"I just came out to get some of that oatmeal, to have ready when he wakes up," Quatermain lied, not wanting Tom's loathsome boss to be badgering the boy.

Mrs. O'Brien turned from the stove, and placed a firm grip on Malloy's right shoulder, attempting to push the muscular spy back down into his seat. "Even if my Tom was awake, he doesn't need you bearing down on him!" she warned.

"He is my employee," Malloy reminded her, barely keeping his temper, "and I have the right to talk to him if I so chose."

"Tom is a human being first, and he needs to be rested and relaxed after his ordeal," the feisty Irish woman persisted. "You'd only upset my dear boy, and I won't be having any of that!"

"Nor will I, Mrs. O'Brien," Allan piped up.

"You can go to Hell, Quatermain," Malloy spat in disgust.

"Mister Malloy! Such language!" Aimee O'Brien cried out in disbelief. It was true that her Tom's boss was less than congenial, but she had never heard him speak to anyone like that before.

"I don't appreciate you speaking that way in front of my Aimee!" Charlie O'Brien blustered, joining his wife.

"This is ridiculous," the lead spy muttered under his breath as he rose from his seat. "I do not have to answer to any of you, and I refuse to wallow in this imbecility any longer. Excuse me!"

"I told you the lad was sleeping," Quatermain snapped, stepping in front of the Secret Service supervisor.

"Don't be alarmed if I find your '_story_' inadequate," Malloy answered snidely. "Seeing is believing." He pushed himself past the older man, but Quatermain blocked the path once again.

While the two men challenged each other in a silent war of deadly glares, Mrs. O'Brien hastily poured some oatmeal into a bowl, and scurried into Tom's room before she could be detected, or stopped.

A feminine scream pierced the quiet.

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Mina scribbled another note of interest as she glanced through the document before her. She had yet to hear any official word from either Quatermain or the American government about Sawyer's fate, so the vampiress busied herself with every possible lead or angle on the abductions and the aliens. She wanted to present her fellow League members with an arsenal of information to better fight their otherworldly foe.

The auburn haired beauty smirked to herself. Okay, maybe she would also relish seeing their leader's incredulous face when he saw the mountain of evidence she had gathered. But what Mina truly relished was seeing Tom's impish, yet sweet grin aimed in her direction as he laid eyes on her for the first time in months. Of course she would allow him to make a few attempts at wooing before gently rebuffing his intentions. Despite finding him very attractive, he was far too young. Still, putting up with a little flirting here and there from a handsome admirer wouldn't be intolerable.

Allowing a small giggle to escape, Mina quickly admonished herself for her detour into the flights of fantasy. She had a job to, and daydreaming about men wasn't going to get it done any faster. Soon the quiet of the apartment was filled with the sound of heavy footprints heading straight towards Mrs. Harker's make-shift office.

Campion Bond's flushed face entered first, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. As Mina rushed over to the portly spy, he stopped her progress by holding a crumpled piece of paper in front of her face.

"Read...this...," Bond huffed out between deep breaths. He had made a mad dash to Mrs. Harker's apartment as soon as he had finished reading the cable, knowing she was the only one who could possibly help in Mr. Quatermain's stead.

Nodding mutely, the half-vampire quickly scanned the paper, her ice blue eyes widening in horror as she took in the details. A small town in Germany was attacked the night before by a craft resembling the one the aliens had used! "Everyone destroyed?" Mina murmured out loud, as she lowered the paper in shock. "Men, women, and...children?"

Finally able to catch his breath, Bond answered. "Yes, the entire town. Every living thing inside it was obliterated. We received confirmation from the German government this morning."

"How many were killed?"

"It was a small village, but the estimate is over 150 civilians."

Gasping, Mina retook her seat at the writing desk as the loss of innocent life overwhelmed every thought. Was this what the alien she had encountered meant by everyone bowing down or perishing? Were they going to use the evil done to the villagers as a warning to the rest of the world?

"I know this will sound incredibly tactless," Bond hesitated briefly, "but would you accompany me to the town? Germany has granted permission for us to come, and since you are one of the few people to have seen the monsters...and survived..."

"Yes. Yes, I will come," Mina answered quickly, wiping the moisture away from her eyes. She had to regain her composure if she would be of any help. "Allow me to grab my chemistry tools, and some belongings."

"Of course, Mrs. Harker," the head of British intelligence said politely. "Thank you for helping your Majesty's government."

"Let me correct you on one point," Mina spoke curtly as she hurried around the open apartment to pack, "I am not doing this for the British government. I am doing this for '_any_' government whose people are being terrorized by these beings." The vampiress stopped when she noted her tone had gotten hostile. It wasn't Bond's fault.

"Pardon my outburst," the auburn haired woman said softly. "I will save any further aggressive behavior on my part for the ones who truly deserve it."

Within fifteen minutes, Mina had packed several bags of varying sizes, and gave them to the younger agent who had accompanied Bond. Putting on her traveling coat and gloves, she hurried to the doorway, giving her temporary home a quick once over for anything she could have forgotten. Satisfied all was accounted for, she left the abode with her male companions, steeling herself for the carnage that could possibly meet her in Germany.

One plea replayed itself over and over in Mina's mind as she watched out the window of the speeding carriage._ 'Please Mr. Q, hurry back with Tom. I need the League! The whole world does...'_


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Dorian Gray walked up brazenly to one of Captain Nemo's crewmen and flipped open the stolen wallet in front of the astonished man's face. "I'm Special Agent Reginald Peterson," Gray said, doing his best to disguise his voice to appear American, while keeping the lip to his hat down low enough that his eyes were hidden in shadow. "A fellow agent is inside that house...."

"Are you here to help that Mr. Malloy then?" the crewman asked warily. He remembered his Captain's order to not interfere with the Secret Service unless they were attempting to take the youngest League member away.

"Yes. First I want to take a quick look around the perimeters to make sure nothing is amiss in Agent Sawyer's protection." Gray gloated inside at how the lowly seaman fell hook, line and sinker for his performance as he began his search around the spy's home. Thankfully Nemo hired them for loyalty, not intelligence, but he would have to continue to play out his new role brilliantly if he hoped to get in close enough to see Sawyer.

* * *

Henry rose groggily from the couch, the sound of screaming and yelling reaching his ears.

Was that melee coming from Tom's room? Instantly the doctor flew away from the couch and made his way toward his patient, prepared to give the 'visitors' a tongue lashing for disrupting Tom's much need rest. As he neared the room, Jekyll heard the voice of reason coming from one of his teammates, easing his concern.

"Everyone! Please remain calm!" Captain Nemo exclaimed, holding out the bowl of oatmeal Mrs. O'Brien had let fall from her grasp. He eyed the shell shocked form of Mr. O'Brien who watched his wife beating upon what appeared to be air, and realized he had only one card to play in hopes of getting the irate woman to refrain from her actions against Skinner. He didn't relish having to use force on a female. "Madame, there is no cause for concern. Would you please help Sawyer with his breakfast?"

Mrs. O'Brien stopped pounding upon the invisible mound of flesh before her. "What about the ghost?" she snapped. "We should be finding a chaplain immediately to dispel this demon...."

"Bloody hell, lady!" Skinner yelled out, glad to be free from the pummeling he was receiving. Damn, this tiny woman could hit like a heavy weight boxer! "If I was a bleeding ghost, do you think you'd be able to beat the living hell out of me?"

Jekyll walked up and placed a hand gently upon the frightened woman's shoulder, his voice soft and comforting. "This is Mr. Skinner. He's the one with the very white features in the photograph I showed you. Without the face paint and coat, he's actually invisible, but a human being nonetheless. There's no need to be fearful of him."

"I know it's hard to believe, Miz Amiee," Tom added from his bed, ignoring Allan's orders to stay quiet and reserve his strength, "but he is invisible. He's also a friend of mine. It's okay."

"Skinner, put your damn coat and face paint on," Allan muttered in the thief's direction, as he continued to keep pressure on Sawyer's shoulder with his right hand. All this racket had the boy moving about too much! The O'Brien's looked on in amazement as a human form began to take shape underneath the black leather coat, while the can of white cream fleshed out a face.

Nemo placed the bowl of oatmeal back into Mrs. O'Brien's hand, and pointed to the chair Quatermain had formally occupied. "You and your husband may stay with Sawyer while the rest of us adjourn to the living room."

Charlie O' Brien nodded his approval of the plan, and gently pushed his dumbfounded wife towards the chair. "Appreciate the gesture, Mr. Nemo...."

Malloy and Allan looked ready to protest, but the captain of the Nautilus gave them a glare that was notorious for sending shivers down his crew, instantly calming any rebelling of his orders. "It is only fair for the O'Brien's to have this time with Sawyer since he will be soon joining us on the Nautilus."

Tom perked up at the news. "The Nautilus? I'm really goin' back into the League?" The young agent glanced between his supervisor and the hunter with hopeful eyes. It was almost too good to be true, but so was Allan being alive, and here he was before him.

"Yes, you are, lad," Quatermain confirmed with a smirk in Malloy's direction.

"It's still debatable," the head spy said sourly. "My superior hasn't agreed to anything."

"You are coming aboard the Nautilus to recuperate," the captain answered firmly, giving Sawyer a wink only the blonde spy could see. "That issue has been settled. Gentlemen, shall we finish our discussions elsewhere while our friend has his meal?" The five men exited the room quietly, allowing Tom to relax in the care of the O'Brien's.

"I still feel Agent Sawyer should be in a hospital," Malloy groused as he and the others entered inside the living room.

"My Nautilus has the most advanced medical equipment available," Nemo answered curtly. "Sawyer will receive the best care possible. Even your President understands that detail, Mr. Malloy. You should use your time more wisely in trying to investigate who was trying to kidnap your agent, not wasting it on attempting to bully us."

"Why you rotten...," Malloy seethed.

"Nemo's right," Rodney interjected. "There's a bunch of dead blokes not far from here that you should be looking into. Don't want the public having a picnic in the park with a bunch of bodies, do we? Imagine what that would do to the tourist trade."

Giving the thief a nasty glare, the supervisor of the Secret Service stormed out of the house, knowing that he didn't have the authority now to stop Sawyer from being moved to the Nautilus, thanks to President McKinley. No, he would get Whitcomb to handle Quatermain and the President, relieving himself from dealing with these freaks from England.

* * *

Trevor Whitcomb was just entering his office to begin his day when a messenger came rushing up to him. Taking the envelope from the breathless young man, the director of the Secret Service noted the Presidential seal immediately.

Ripping open the envelope, he read over the quickly written words it contained, his alarm rising. Agent Sawyer was injured, and Allan Quatermain was with him! How could everything have been turned on its head so quickly?

"Tell President McKinley I'll be there as quickly as I can," Whitcomb told the messenger, who hurried down the hallway to deliver the response to the letter. Passing by his secretary, the director ordered her to track down Agent Malloy and inform him of an emergency meeting with the President.

First came the red flares, then the missing agents . . . now Agent Sawyer had barely survived a botched kidnaping attempt. Was all Hell breaking loose?

* * *

As Joe Harper neared Sawyer's house, the young spy was quite unprepared for the sight that greeted him. A large number of oddly dressed men were spaced out over the modest lawn, their dark eyes focused upon the horizon, as if they were watching for someone. Using his spy training, he scurried behind a nearby bush before they could spot him, and watched the strangers intently.

Miz Aimee had told him that Tom had been wounded, and that some of Tom's friends from England were here taking care of him at his home. The only time Tom Sawyer had been in England for the government was to chase after the Fantom, so that meant these 'friends' had to be from the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. The small army of men before him looked to be from India, which would tie in with Captain Nemo.

Joe knew a bit about the League, being Sawyer's contact while hiding out in France. The American government had heard about the forming of a group of dangerous outcasts, and they worried it could be connected to the Fantom. Huck Finn's last communication had mentioned a League of Extraordinary Gentlemen being created, and so Tom was sent to England to find out what he could about the Fantom, and this League.

Sawyer did all the leg work in London, passing what information he could find to Joe, who stayed as inconspicuous as possible in the French countryside. The Secret Service didn't want both agents in the same area, in case something went wrong like what happened in Huck Finn's death.

The last communication Harper received from his fellow agent was to let him know that Tom was going to 'join' this League, since he felt them to be part of the solution, not the problem. When Sawyer had found out Allan Quatermain was leading the group, he knew they were not an evil organization. The infamous adventurer would never lower himself to work for the likes of the Fantom willingly.

Taking the chance that these were indeed Captain Nemo's men, Joe came out from behind his hiding place, raising his hands away from his body to show he meant no harm...at least as of now. He walked up boldly to Tom's front yard, and to the group of strangers.

One of the foreign men instantly came up to Harper, his rifle raised half-way as dark eyes scanned over the new visitor. Before the junior spy could speak, he heard the all too familiar voice of his supervisor.

"Harper? Did that busybody, Mrs. O'Brien, send you here?" Malloy demanded, giving Nemo's crewman a surly look. Grabbing a hold of Joe's shirt, he pulled the younger man away, steering him to less occupied area of the yard.

"She said Tom was hurt," Joe began to speak before being cut off.

"According to those freaks inside, Agent Sawyer is just fine," Malloy said with heavy disdain. "Even though he was ambushed, shot, then almost nearly bled to death."

"What?" the former Missouri boy gasped in alarm. "Is he okay? Do you know who did it?"

"Yes, Sawyer will recover, but we don't know who was behind it. That bastard Quatermain said–"

"Wait a minute! You mean the **deceased** Allan Quartermain?"

Rolling his eyes, Malloy let out a huff of irritation. "Yes, that overstated glory hound is alive and well. Royal pain in the ass is more like it."

Joe pointed to Sawyer's home, itching to see for himself his friend's condition. "Would it be okay if I just step in a bit to see Tom?"

"You have ten minutes. Doubt if you'll get more than five minutes with Sawyer anyway with that circus inside. After that, meet me in Lafayette Square before heading into work."

"Of course, sir," Joe replied politely, pushing his curiosity about the order to the back of his mind. Seeing Tom was his first priority.

* * *

Mrs. O'Brien came out of Tom's room with a half empty bowl of oatmeal and walked up to the League members. "Poor dear fell asleep, but at least he did get some food in him."

"Tom told us that all he needed from his home was his clothes and the trunk at the foot of his bed," Charlie O'Brien spoke as he walked up beside his wife. "The elephant gun hanging over the fireplace was to be given back to Mr. Quatermain, and he'd also like to be moved to the Nautilus as soon as possible, even if he's sleeping at the time."

Allan grunted in agreement. He hated to disturb the lad's sleep, but this couldn't wait any longer. "Captain, would you mind alerting some of your men to start preparations for transporting Sawyer and his belongings?"

"With pleasure," Nemo replied with an slight smile. He walked swiftly over to the door, but before he could fully open it, another figure from outside almost ran into him.

"Joey!" Mrs. O'Brien called out when she spotted the young man. "It's all right, Mr. Nemo, he's Tom's friend."

"We've been expecting you, Mr. Harper," Captain Nemo said to the newcomer. "I am -"

"Captain Nemo!" Joe interrupted happily. "I've heard a lot of amazin' things about you!" The spy glanced over at the group of men standing near the kitchen. "I'm goin' to guess the gent with the white face is Rodney Skinner, the invisible man, and the man with the nice suit is Dr. Jekyll. Sure is an honor to meet you all!"

Walking up to Quatermain, Joe held out his hand for the explorer to shake. "And there's no mistakin' you're Allan Quatermain. Glad to see you aren't dead after all."

Allan shook the youth's hand with a slight smirk. "You certainly know about us."

"Yeah," Harper said with a fast nod of his head. "I'd love to chat more, but my supervisor said I don't have much time, so I'd like to see Tom, if that's okay."

The hunter's dark brows rose in surprise. "You're a direct lad, aren't you? Thomas is resting in his room . . . ."

"I'd better warn you, Mr. Quatermain, Tom hates bein' called Thomas. Be better for you if'n you just called him Tom. It'll be a whole heap easier." Joe looked in the direction of his friend's room. "Is he awake?"

"No, but it'll be all right for you to see him," Jekyll answered. "He'll be leaving soon to go aboard the Nautilus to recuperate."

"Thanks, I'll do my best not to rouse him." Stopping briefly to give Mrs. O'Brien a big hug, the young Missourian hurried to see his old friend.

Quatermain huffed irritably as he watched Joe enter Tom's room. "Be easier for me? Be better for me to obey the whims of a youngster? What a bunch of rot. If the boy's name is Thomas, it's Thomas!"

Skinner and Henry exchanged amused glances. This was going to be an interesting war of the wills coming up!

* * *

Dorian had made his way to the back of the house without any trouble, avoiding any contact with Nemo's men for good measure. Eyeing the small window that was awash in the glow from the fireplace inside, the immortal inched closer, hoping to be able to tell the state Sawyer was in.

Thankfully the curtain was parted an inch, and Gray could see his young charge lying still in the bed, with covers up to his neck. He briefly watched Tom's chest rise up and down in a steady rhythm. The whelp looked to be in one piece, and now it was up to him to make sure the little hellion stayed that way to avoid being sent back to Hell. The brief flashes of Hellfire he felt back at the Treasury Building must've been when Sawyer was injured.

Toying with the idea of prying the window open and slipping inside the bedroom, Dorian decided not to try and force the issue for now. With Sawyer obviously in a deep slumber, the ageless Briton would have to face the others on his own. Not a good plan. Like it or not, he needed the American brat to convince the others to let him rejoin.

The door to Tom's bedroom opened suddenly, forcing Gray to quickly move away from the window to avoid being seen. Lowering his body underneath it, he raised his head over the sill to eye level, hoping to get a glimpse of who had entered. Whoever this person was, he looked to be about Sawyer's age, and from the gentle way the youth took the slumbering man's hand, he appeared to be a friend.

Dorian thought back to what that annoying Mrs. O'Brien said at the restaurant. She mentioned a "Joey" person. Was this the newcomer? A familiar voice booming in the distance tore the handsome aristocrat from his musings. Crouching near a bush beside the window, Gray tried to make his body as small as possible so not to be noticed.

He saw Captain Nemo addressing a small group of his men to the left side of Sawyer's home, and from what he could pick up from the bit of Hindi he knew, it sounded like they were going to be moving the spy to the Nautilus.

The immortal's heart leapt into his throat. If he could somehow get aboard the Nautilus, the rest of the League would have to hear him out! He strained to pick up more of the conversation, hoping for anything to help in his task. A pleased smile formed on his lips when he heard a mention of a trunk at the foot of Tom's bed. It looked big enough to hold a man inside!

A man such as himself.

* * *

Mrs. Harker, Campion Bond, and the German Ambassador to England, Fredrick Hartings, traveled silently in the train's first class coach, their thoughts and spirits heavy. None knew for sure what awaited them once they arrived in Germany, but they were each bracing themselves for the worst.

The loss of life kept stabbing at Mina unmercifully, the fact that even innocent children were among the slaughtered. Would even the might of the League be able to stop these horrible aliens? The half-vampiress forced the doubt from her mind. Together, they would somehow find a way. They were Earth's last hope.

Flipping through the little stack of paperwork in her lap, Mina tried to find some clue, some reasoning as to why this particular town called Steinmoss was chosen for destruction. There were other small villages that had fewer inhabitants nearby, so was there something there that drew the aliens to this spot? A stray sheet of paper fell down to the floor near Ambassador Hartings' feet, causing the auburn haired woman to notice his trousers. There was a white, powder substance toward the bottom of one leg.

Her eyes growing large in recognition, Mina asked, "Mr. Hartings, may I ask as to where you might have acquired this white powder that is on your trouser leg?"

Startled by the question, Hartings glanced down, noticing the powder for the first time. "It has been a horrendous twenty-four hours, Mrs. Harker, and I haven't paused to even change my attire," he began. "I must have picked it up at the sight of the devastation. The whole village was covered in it. Frankly, the powder was about all that was left."

Mina gave the man a sympathetic look. "I apologize for my frankness, Mr. Hartings, but in my research of these beings, I have continuously come across a white powder substance."

"Do you have any ideas of what it is?"

Shaking her head, the female member of the League lowered her gaze. "So far I haven't been able to find anything special about it, or even what it is called."

"Maybe when we reach the site, things will begin to make sense," Ambassador Hartings said hopefully. "I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you, Mrs. Harker and Mr. Bond, for your availability in assisting our country."

"All countries of the Earth may need to band together to stop this threat," Bond spoke gloomily. "We can't stick our heads in the sand anymore and say it's the other country's problem."

Hartings nodded his head solemnly in agreement. He wasn't too keen in seeking out the help of the British, but their government's inner workings were more advanced. Bond was right. This could lead to a worldwide catastrophe.

The three traveling companions fell back into an uneasy silence as the train raced down the tracks towards Germany.


End file.
